


It's Complicated

by LoveMeSomeRafael



Category: Law & Order: SVU, law & order svu
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Smut, So.Much.Swearing., Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-10-27 19:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMeSomeRafael/pseuds/LoveMeSomeRafael
Summary: How does "Hate at first sight" become "Where have you been all my life"?Chapter 1:  Rafael Barba meets OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas, an FBI Forensic Psychiatrist assigned to SVU.  They make the worst possible first impressions on one another.





	1. Don't Get Me Started

**Author's Note:**

> I try to keep to canon, but in this world there are some differences.  
* The Undiscovered Country never happened, so Barba is still A.D.A. and he's not going anywhere. Because Barba.  
* I like Mike Dodds, so he's still alive. (I blame you guys for that one, I never thought much about him until I realized how much Mike Dodds love there is out there, and now I'm kinda infected with it, too.)  
* One more thing we don't talk enough about - FBI Agent Dean Porter was insanely hot and Olivia should have hit that hard. So she's gonna. (You have been warned.)  
* Oh, and Peter Stone. Because I needed a prosecutor and Barba couldn't do it. Plus, yanno, Peter Stone. (I don't care. I love him.)

Rafael Barba did not make a good first impression on Francisca Rojas. At all. In fact, she found him to be an insufferable ass and hoped never to have to work with him. Unfortunately, given her new job, that was not going to happen. Well, she was an adult, and a Forensic Psychiatrist, and realistic enough to have known that she wouldn’t like everyone she met at NYPD. She could deal with Barba. Frankie wondered whether her friend George Huang had ever met him. If he had, it seemed like he should have warned her when she told him she had accepted his former position with NYPD. 

Mark Stephens was not their rapist. Barba wanted him to be. Frankie could understand wanting the guy they had in custody to be the doer, but he wasn’t, and Barba was just going to have to deal with that. She wasn’t particularly impressed with a Prosecutor who wanted to take the easy way out. A guy as arrogant as Barba needed to be able to back it up and, so far, Barba was looking like he might be all hat, no cattle. 

Francisca Rojas made an even worse impression on Barba. He had been a Prosecutor for over twenty years. A bunch of fancy diplomas and an FBI pedigree didn’t hold a candle to that kind of experience. He knew what the hell he was doing. She clearly didn’t. Yet there she’d been, parading her ignorance before the entire squad, telling them that Stephens wasn’t the rapist because he didn’t fit her_ profile_. In what universe was that evidence? 

Olivia Benson was concerned. The Forensic Psychiatrist and the A.D.A. assigned to SVU needed to have a good working relationship. She couldn’t have them disagreeing on something as basic as whether their prime suspect was the one. She sure as hell couldn’t have them at eachother’s throats. Liv kind of had to side with Barba on this one – Stephens was caught on the scene of the latest rape, and he had scratches on his face consistent with the size of the victim’s hands. Even he admitted that the tests were going to show that it was his DNA under her fingernails. A profile was only good to let them know who to look for – it was useless once they’d found the skel who did the crime. Was their new Forensic Psychiatrist so conceited that she couldn’t admit she was wrong in the face of the evidence? This could be bad. 

“Hey, Doc,” the tall, gangly, ridiculously pretty detective called to Frankie. What was his name again? Something Italian. He caught up to her at the entrance to the stairs. “Hey, um… I’m interested in your thoughts about Stephens.”

Frankie took a few seconds to breathe. She strongly suspected that the correct translation was, “I’m about to call bullshit on your theory.”

“What is it you want to know, uh… Detective?”

“Carisi. Call me Sonny.”

“Detective Carisi. Sonny.”

“Well, you seem pretty, um, sure that Stephens isn’t our guy. And Barba seems pretty sure he is. I’m an attorney, so I’d like to understand why the evidence we have isn’t doin’ it for ya’. Because I’m thinkin’ if you’re not convinced, a jury might not be, either.”

Frankie blinked. He seemed sincere. “Well, thanks for that. I appreciate you asking, rather than just deciding I’m wrong.”

“Don’t worry about the squad. They’re not closed-minded. They’re just going off of what they see in the evidence. If it goes in another direction, so will they.” 

Frankie laughed humorlessly. “And Barba?”

“Barba’s… Barba. You’ll get used to him.” 

“Well, he’s wrong. And here’s why. It’s a couple of things, actually. First, Stephens’ story makes sense. A woman who’s just been raped and beaten sees a man bending over her? She _could_ react violently, just as he said. She _could_ misinterpret an attempt to help her as an attack. And she’s not telling us differently, because she doesn’t remember anything. Second, Stephens is talking to us. He won’t shut up. He’s doing everything he can to help. Our guy, he won’t be like that. He does everything he can to humiliate his victims. He taunts law enforcement. He thinks he’s smarter than anyone and can just play with us. So in an interrogation, he won’t be talking. He’ll be mocking. He’ll be disrespectful, angry and superior.” She smiled. “Like Barba.” 

Frankie’s shoulders slumped when her assistant told her that A.D.A. Barba was holding on Line One for her. She knew it. She’d known very quickly after meeting him that he was going to be trouble. He was the exact type that always was. She looked up to the ceiling, shook her head, and sighed, “Put him through.”

“Dr. Rojas.” 

“Mr. Barba. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me what the hell that was back there at the station house. How do you justify ignoring the facts in favor of a theory that doesn’t fit them?”

“I’m _not_ ignoring the facts, because the facts _do_ fit the theory. You just don’t like the _way_ they fit. I wish I could agree with you. I wish Stephens was the guy. But I don’t think he is.”

Barba massaged his temples with his hand. “Well, you aren’t afraid to stick to your position, I’ll give you that.” 

“Did you call to try to browbeat me into your way of thinking? Because that would be a waste of time.”

Rafael wasn’t quite seeing red yet, but he hadn’t wanted to make this call in the first place, and that comment definitely made him mad. “No. I do not intend to ‘browbeat’ you. I thought I would take an opportunity to try to discuss this case one-on-one, like adults. But I appreciate you letting me know that would be a waste of my time.”

Really? This overbearing troll was calling her a child? For standing by what all of her training and experience told her? Frankie tried hard to hang on to her temper. “Mr. Barba, I did my research. I know who you are. Your resumé is as impressive as your attitude would suggest, and so is your record in court. Your peers talk about you in superlatives, nobody wants to see you on the other side of a case, and the NYPD holds you in especially high regard. I’d be an idiot to take a position counter to yours without damn good reason, and I am not an idiot.”

“I suppose that ‘fountain of praise’ technique usually works fairly well for you?”

Frankie, had she known it, mirrored Barba’s position at her desk, her hand massaging her temples. “There’s always one,” she sighed to herself, before responding. “Look. Stephens’ DNA will either match the rapist’s, or it won’t. If it does, I’m wrong and you’re right. You put Stephens away and you get bragging rights. I can live with that. But if it doesn’t, we still have a rapist out there. And _that_ is honestly all I care about. This isn’t about ego for me. It’s about stopping a rapist.”

“You expect me to believe that.”

“You know what? I actually don’t. Lucky for us, it doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not.”

“Doctor, we are going to have to find a way to work together.”

“Yes, we are. And you may be surprised to learn that I’m sure we will. This is not new territory for me, Mr. Barba.”

“Meaning what? Everyone finds you difficult to work with?”

“Not everyone. Just a certain kind of man.”

Rafael was certain he wasn’t going to like this. “Enlighten me.” 

Frankie could hear the sneer through the phone. Self-righteous prick. What a piece of work. At that point, despite her hard-won self knowledge and the many techniques she’d learned to control it, her temper pushed all her higher instincts out the window. Again. 

“You did your due diligence on me, same as I did on you. And you’ve decided I’m a dilletante. You know I’m Salomon Rojas’s daughter and you think daddy bought me some degrees so I could dress up and play FBI Barbie.“

Rafael said nothing. She was uncomfortably close to the mark.

“I’m used to it,” she continued. “So go ahead and discount me all you want. And you’re welcome to set up whatever hurdles and challenges you find necessary. They all do.”

“Well, thank you for reducing me to a cliché.” 

“Look, let me just save you some time. I’ve been set up to fail by the best. During medical school, during my residencies… It didn’t get me to quit, Mr. Barba. It made me a better doctor. And you don’t want to know what I went through my first few years in the FBI, but suffice it to say that you will not be able to best those guys in either ingenuity or cruelty. So bring it on. The sooner you figure out I’m the real deal, the sooner we can get to work.”

“Thank you for sharing that poignant slice of your life with me, irrelevant though it was.”

“Was it?” Rojas’s voice dripped meaning.

“You _are _ a psychiatrist, aren’t you? Next you’re going to ask me how I feel about my mother.”

“You adore your mother. And she adores you. I’m not getting much of a father figure in your life, though. That may be behind some of the attitude.”

It wasn’t often that Rafael Barba was at a loss for words.

Frankie stepped into the silence. “When the DNA results come back, we’ll know. And we’ll take the next step, whatever it is. If Stephens is the rapist, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that you were right and I was wrong. If he isn’t, I hope you’ll let me do my job and contribute to planning the team’s next move.”

“Well. I thought I just heard you acknowledge the possibility that you might be wrong.”

“See?” Frankie’s voice was all sarcasm. “Your preconceptions are crumbling already. Anything else?”

“Just… Try to disagree with me a little more discreetly in the future.”

They both slammed down the phones at the same time.

Frankie cradled her head in her hands and groaned. She’d done it again. Barba couldn’t help it if he was the exact type of asshole who instantly got under her skin. And she should be far, far above this kind of thing. She was a damn psychiatrist, for fuck’s sake! And she’d just set a land speed record for letting her temper take control of her big mouth. She wondered how hard it would be to get her job in Quantico back.

The groan Barba uttered as he got up from his desk to refill his coffee cup was very similar to the one Frankie had just made. She had an answer for everything, didn’t she? Rafael did not appreciate being pigeonholed or labeled, and he saw right through that tactic. She thought she could dismiss his misgivings about her as part of some macho, “elite of the bourgeoisie” flaw in his character, turning any questioning of her into proof of his own inadequacy. Clever. And annoying as fuck. Rafael understood how she’d ended up in the FBI; he only wondered why she wasn’t in Psy Ops. He couldn’t wait to see what happened when the DNA came back showing Stephens was the rapist. 

Only it didn’t.

The DNA under the victim’s fingernails was Stephens’s, as he’d said it would be. But his DNA did not match the rape kits of any of the three victims tied to the Pattern 20 rapist. The squad took it in stride, Lieutenant Benson was intrigued, and Barba was annoyed. He could see absolutely no indication of gloating or superiority in Dr. Rojas as the team settled in around the SVU conference table at the station house. Which was surprising, because he was watching for it. He knew it would come out eventually.

Amanda Rollins had been the one to state the obvious. “Well, you were right. Stephens isn’t our guy.”

“I wish he was,” Rojas had said, sliding a thin laptop out of her leather carryall before stuffing the carryall under her chair. She hoped that was all she would have to say about it. 

“Sorry if it seemed like we doubted you,” the sexy black detective with the weird name said. 

“Don’t be. We need to be candid with one another. When you think I’m wrong, say so. Trust me, I’ll fuck up,” she responded, lifting a cup of coffee to her lips and making a dismissive gesture with her other hand. 

“Fin, you want to start us off?” Lieutenant Benson asked, beginning the briefing. 

Fin, that’s right. And his last name was… Tortuga, Tutahkhamen, something like that.

Frankie was intrigued to see what Barba’s attitude would be. As Carisi had predicted, the squad seemed perfectly willing to follow the evidence wherever it led, but they hadn’t seemed to put their own credibility on the line as to whether Stephens was the rapist. He had. She was actually relieved when he said nothing about having been wrong, and gave no indication that there was anything _to_ say. Sometimes egotistical blowhards like him could be even more insulting when they tried to be polite. 

The briefing was fairly routine. Having gotten through this first hiccup, Frankie hoped things would run more smoothly with her new team. She couldn’t help feeling like she’d dodged a bullet in being right about Stephens. Barba and the SVU squad all knew each other. They’d worked together for years. They could make all the mistakes they wanted at this point, and it wouldn’t change their baseline impressions of each other. But if she’d been wrong, their first impression and permanent impression of her would be – well, it would be what Barba’s was. That she was a pushy know-it-all who couldn’t stand to be wrong, even when the evidence made it clear.

What she’d said to Barba was mostly true; she didn’t have much of an ego. But she did have a tendency to say what she thought when keeping her peace might be a better choice, and when the team had looked to be concluding that Stephens was their rapist, she had been sure they were wrong, and had said so before she could think better of it. She cursed herself, for the billionth time, for making such a stupid mistake, especially in a new job. As she’d told Barba, she knew what people tended to expect when they first met her. So why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? It didn’t matter what she thought – the DNA was going to tell the truth, anyway. She’d never learn. Sometimes she thought her life would be easier if she’d been born mute.

When the briefing was over, the team all had assignments, including her. She re-packed her carryall to return to her office and get to work re-analyzing the victim and witness interviews. Seeing Barba waiting for the elevator, she headed for the stairs. 

“Avoiding me now?” He caught her just as she entered the stairway.

Frankie turned around to face him. “Of course not. I just like to take the stairs.”

“Don’t you want to hear me say that you were right and I was wrong?”

“To tell you the truth, not particularly. I actually find that more awkward than the other way around.”

“That’s odd. I don’t.”

It took all Frankie’s self-control not to make a snarky reply. Of course this man didn’t mind hearing he was right. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have that opportunity, Counselor. Will you excuse me? I’d like to get back to work.” 

“Not before I apologize and acknowledge that you were correct.”

“Right… um… it’s all good. Apology accepted. I appreciate it. I’m gonna just…” Frankie pointed to the stairs and began to descend, deeply uncomfortable and desperate to get out of this situation. 

Barba shook his head as he watched her basically run down the stairs in her pumps. Normally, he would have wondered how someone that amateurish had achieved the things this woman had. But in the case of Francisca Rojas, he had a pretty good idea. She’d said it herself. She was a rich girl whose father had undoubtedly bought her way into Texas A&M, and all the way through medical school. She hadn’t mentioned her looks, but Rafael had no doubt that all she’d had to do was shake that long, black hair and bat those dark eyes to get wherever she wanted to go from there. FBI Barbie. She had no idea how accurate he found that description. 

“Hey! Doc!” 

Frankie turned around to see Carisi standing in line at the coffee cart outside the station house. He must have made a beeline from the briefing to be there already. 

“Detective Carisi.”

“Sonny.”

“Is ‘Sonny’ short for something?”

“It’s Dominick. But my father is Dominick, so…”

“Got it. Sonny. And I’m Frankie.”

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love it. Thanks. I’m addicted to the stuff. Double-shot skinny latte.”

“Hey, that’s what Barba drinks.”

“No kidding. You’re clearly a great detective. You may have just found the one thing he and I have in common.”

“You two don’t seem to have gotten off to a very good start. If you don’t mind my saying so.” 

“I don’t mind you saying the sky is blue, either. Some things are just true.”

“So what’s the problem? Still the Stephens thing?”

“It’s nothing. We’ll work it out. We’re both professionals.”

Sonny knew a conversation diverter when he heard one. “Rojas. That’s Mexican, right?”

“Right.”

“When I heard your name, and that you were from Texas, I wasn’t sure what kind of accent to expect. But I don’t hear one at all.”

Frankie laughed. “Would you believe me if I told you I speak Spanish with a Texas twang?”

“Is that a thing?” Carisi smiled, which made his blue eyes crinkle in a way Frankie found endearing. 

“Actually, yes.”

“Barba speaks Spanish.”

Frankie tried not to show her irritation. She really wanted to get off the subject of Barba. “Great. Then he can hate me in two languages.” 

They reached the front of the line and Carisi ordered their coffee. “He’s a good guy, you know. Really. Kind of a sharp tongue, but when you get to know him, you’ll see that’s just the way he talks.” 

Frankie didn’t believe him, and she made another attempt to change the subject. “Speaking of accents, would it be rude for me to ask about yours?”

“Staten Island. Born and raised. Where are you from in Texas?”

“Just outside of Austin.”

As the conversation turned to more pleasant subjects, Frankie started to enjoy the opportunity to spend a few minutes outside on this sunny spring afternoon, having a calm, enjoyable conversation with one of her new coworkers. It was even better when Amanda Rollins came out to join them, soda in hand. She suggested they take a short walk to stretch their legs, which Carisi declined, saying he had some calls to make. 

“Is Sonny really as nice as he seems?” Frankie asked as she and Amanda set off down the block.

“Unbelievably, yes. He can also toss a perp against a car with the best of them when the situation calls for it.”

“Nice combo.”

“You know, I couldn’t help but notice things aren’t starting out so well with you and Barba.”

“Shit. Sonny was just telling me the same thing. I’m embarrassed. I can actually behave like a professional, believe it or not.”

“But can you toss a perp against a car when the situation calls for it?”

“Probably not,” Frankie laughed. “Although I’d like to try it with Barba.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?”

“It’s more me than him. I just have a visceral reaction to his type. Arrogant, snide, macho, chauvinistic, you know.”

“You might be surprised to learn that Barba’s none of that,” Rollins noted. “OK, arrogant and snide, maybe. But in a good way.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am totally serious. But in your defense, I thought the same thing about him at first. Except I thought it was hot.”

“Hot? _Barba_?”

“Of course. Even if you don’t like him, you have to admit he’s got that whole green-eyed Latin thing happening. And the way he dresses…”

“Ugh. Sorry. I can’t get past the personality.”

“I’ll make you a bet. In a month, you’ll like him a lot better than you do now. And you’ll agree with me that he’s hot.”

“I’ll take that bet. What are the stakes?” 

“Well, I’m a compulsive gambler in recovery, so we better keep it to something in the realm of foods that aren’t good for us.”

“I’m a total sucker for anything with frosting.”

“Oh, well that makes it easy. Patsy’s Cupcakes on Church Street. Loser buys a dozen for the winner.”

“You’re on.”


	2. The Rest Of The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A suspect gives OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas a message that terrifies her. Rafael Barba refuses to allow her to be part of interrogating the suspect, causing a huge argument between them, with surprising results.

The man in the box was a good candidate. He’d been arrested trying to fence items stolen from not one, but two of the victims. Not only that, but he was angry and uncooperative, and his interaction with Lieutenant Benson and Sergeant Dodds thus far in the interrogation was certainly nasty enough to be consistent with the guy Dr. Rojas had said they were looking for. However, he wouldn’t give them DNA, and he had alibis for the times of the rapes. Fin and Rollins were out at that moment checking them out.

Barba and Rojas stood on opposite sides of the one-way glass in Benson’s office, as far apart as they could, as they watched the interrogation, hoping for a break. Over the three weeks they’d been working together, things had not improved between them.

“Y’all trippin’,” sneered the skinny, tweaked-out kid. “You wastin’ your time. I told you where I was when them rapes went down. Just check it out.”

“We’re doing that,” Dodds said. “In the meantime, maybe you can tell us where you got the stuff you were trying to sell. Because it’s pretty suspicious that it belongs to _two_ of the women who were raped.”

“I done _told_ you that. Some dude gave it to me.”

Dodds sighed and moved closer to the suspect, whom Dodds dwarfed. “Describe the dude,” he said, slowly and distinctly.

“I don’t _feel_ like it.” 

Barba was scowling thoughtfully. “This kid knows a lot about this case that he’s not saying,” he muttered to himself.

Frankie cut her eyes to him. She’d just been thinking the same thing. “But he’s not our guy.”

“No. And we’re asking the wrong questions.” 

“Have you noticed his weird affect? I can’t pin it down, but there’s something…” 

As she looked at Barba while he stared thoughtfully into the interrogation room, Frankie noticed for the first time how well-cut his hair was. She knew an expensive haircut when she saw one. She wondered whether that was what Amanda had been talking about when she’d called him hot. He did have a nice profile, she supposed. To be fair, he wasn’t ugly by any stretch. And since Amanda had mentioned his green eyes, she had noticed those, too. But hot? Barba? Not with that personality. 

Suddenly, it struck her what the witness’s behavior reminded her of. “You ever see a little kid try to keep a secret? How they’re just busting with it, dying to tell?”

Barba looked over at her, nodding. “Yes.” He looked back through the glass, still nodding. “Yes.”

As he watched the suspect, he had to admit that was a good description of his behavior. After just that brief look at Dr. Rojas, he also had to admit that she was wearing a very nice suit today, which fit her extremely well. He’d noticed that all her accessories, from the necklace that - though subtle - probably cost as much as his suit, to the chic shoes that elongated and accentuated her legs without drawing attention to themselves, showed excellent taste. Barba usually liked well-dressed women, but on her, the effect was ruined. Rather than appreciating her outfit, Barba found that it left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew that he would probably have admired her if he hadn’t known who Francisca Rojas was. But he did. He knew that she was one of _them_. She might be _Latina_, but she wasn’t one of his people.

Rafael Barba was insightful enough, at least, to recognize that he had a particular chip on his shoulder when it came to Dr. Rojas and the rest of her privileged class, to whom everything came entirely too easily. People who expected that, and believed it to be no more than their due, and who had very little regard for people like him and his family, who had to earn their achievements. Any display of unearned wealth disturbed him on a deep level wherever he saw it, and he was looking at it right now. Her father might be self-made, but she was not.

He had met far too many of her type in his life. His parents had sacrificed to send him to Catholic school so that he would get the best possible education, which meant all his friends from Jerome Avenue were together at public school while he was incarcerated with all the posh kids from the surrounding area. With the fierce cruelty of children to anyone who stands out, his classmates had made sure he understood his inferiority, mocking everything about him that set him apart, even the fact that he was smarter than any of them. It didn’t get better in college, it was just more well-concealed. And at Harvard… Well, Rafael had actually preferred Catholic school. At Harvard, the culture of overt prejudice against “scholarship kids” was not only blatant but encouraged, and highlighted by an irremediable difference of wealth and social class that no amount of achievement could touch. It was there that Rafael’s dislike of the trappings of wealth and social distinction was honed to a razor-sharp hatred.

Getting nothing further from the suspect, Benson and Dodds eventually had to end the questioning and arrest the suspect for nothing more than receiving stolen goods. None of them thought he was the rapist, and none of them thought he was going to give them anything that might lead them to the rapist. When Fin and Rollins returned, having confirmed his alibis for the times of the rapes, no one was surprised.

As the suspect was being led out of the box to be booked, Olivia signaled. “Rafa, Dr. Rojas, can we talk in my office?”

Hearing that, the suspect involuntarily flinched and turned to look at Frankie, lighting up with interest. Trouble was written plainly in his sudden wide smile as he gave her an insolent once-over. “You’re Frankie Rojas? I know someone who is looking for you.”

“Oh?” She asked, too surprised to hide her reaction.

“Yeah. Alan sends his best,” the skinny punk laughed as he was led from the squad room. 

Frankie blanched and appeared to falter as she put a hand out to steady herself on the nearest desk. Barba and Olivia shared a look. _What was that_? 

They headed into Olivia’s office and took positions around the small room, Olivia behind her desk, and Barba and Rojas on opposite sides of the couch. Mike Dodds started to close the door but was stopped by a tall, very good-looking man with dark hair whom no one had noticed enter the squad room.

“Hey, Porter,” Dodds said, holding the door open looking expectantly over at Lieutenant Benson.

She smiled regretfully. “Ten minutes, Dean. I’m sorry, we just need to have a short debrief.”

Frankie surprised everyone by standing up from the couch and saying, “No, I think he should come in. And I think he should stay.”

All eyes turned to her as she looked at Olivia’s live-in boyfriend, FBI Agent Dean Porter, who had come to take Olivia to lunch. Normally, that would have been cause for a fair amount of suggestive joking, since the relationship was fairly new and rumored to be very physical, but not today.

“He’s here,” Frankie said to Porter, the fear in her voice unmistakable. “Porter, Alan is here.”

“Fuck,” Porter said, and closed the door.

Olivia briefly scanned the faces in the room, paying extra attention to Rojas and Porter. She looked from one to the other, saying, “Is someone going to explain what’s going on?”

Porter held out a hand to Frankie, inviting her to speak. He and Dodds remained standing while she collapsed back into her seat. She took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully before beginning.

“Everything you know about me is true. Porter and I did meet at Quantico and we did… work together. When you hear ‘we worked together’, that sounds like we were partners or on the same team or something, and we let that impression stand. We_ were_ both working Major Crimes, but that’s not… that’s not how we knew each other. We knew each other because I was a victim in one of his cases.” She sighed again. “There was a man – _is_ a man named Alan Canady. Long story short, he wants to kill me.”

After dropping that grenade, Frankie simply waited for questions. None came. She looked around for help, but everyone in the room was too skilled an interrogator to think of interrupting. 

So she continued. “We met in San Antonio, when I first started with the Bureau. He and I dated for about six months. It’s the textbook story we’ve all heard a million times. At first, he seemed entirely normal. But then, over time, he got progressively more possessive. It happened so slowly I didn’t realize it at first. Have I missed any of the clichés yet?”

Olivia muttered, “Stop it, Doc. We’re familiar with the pattern, yes. But we don’t judge our victims here. Just tell us what happened.”

Frankie smiled thinly in gratitude. It was one thing to be the one who got to say those things. It was another to believe them when they were said to you.

“One day, something happened. It was so small, just one of those little, stupid things that happen every day. I had to work late, and then my car wouldn’t start. By then, Alan had all these rules. I was supposed to call him any time I wasn’t going to be where I’d said I would, but we didn’t even have a date that night, and we didn’t live together or anything… And then when my car wouldn’t start, one of my coworkers was right there, and he gave me a ride home. I didn’t even think about it until we got to my house, and Alan was there. He was seething. He accused me of… well, this isn’t a very original story. You know the rest. It was the first time he hit me. And then it escalated, like it always does, until I ended up in the hospital. So I broke up with him. He went nuts, stalked me for a while, and was such a general pain in my ass that I decided to take a position in Virginia to get away from him. I thought that was the end of it, until he showed up there.”

“He followed you to Virginia?” Barba asked.

Frankie was having a hard enough time working around the shame of having to reveal this to her new colleagues. She simply couldn’t respond to Barba, of all people. She could only imagine what he would be like to work with now.

“He followed her and torched her house,” Porter answered for her. “With her asleep inside.”

“Shit,” Dodds hissed.

“I don’t think he was trying to kill me at that point. It was easy enough to get out once I woke up. He was just trying to scare me into taking him back.” Frankie pointedly did not look at anyone but Porter, who knew the whole story. “Anyway, that’s when I met Porter. Alan was always one step ahead of us. It doesn’t look like he moved to Virginia, which is part of why he was so hard to trace. He just visited enough to make my life miserable and keep me scared. But he escalated. That’s when Porter started to recommend that I leave town. In retrospect, I should have, but I fought it for a long time. I was so pissed! I didn’t want to have to start over in a new city, again.”

“So what happened?” Dodds asked. 

“Porter came to New York to be with Olivia and the Bureau assigned a new Special Agent to the case. When she came on, she took one look and said I had to get out of Virginia. Alan was trying to kill me for real, and he was going to succeed one of these times. She said that Porter and I were like those frogs in the pot of water. You know that saying? You turn up the heat gradually enough and they’ll just get used to it until they’re boiled alive, not realizing how hot it is? She said it was too hot for me to stay at Quantico, and she went over my head to get me reassigned. She called Porter, who knew about this job because of Olivia, and here I am. You can read the file if you want. You probably should. Because now Alan’s here. Already.”

The room digested the new information.

“How do you know?” Porter asked. “How do you know he’s here?” 

“We were questioning a suspect just now,” Dodds answered. “When he heard Liv call her ‘Dr. Rojas’, he recognized her name. He called her by her first name and he told her ‘Alan sends his best.’” 

Porter looked concerned. “What was the suspect’s crime?” 

“We’re charging him with receiving stolen goods, but we were questioning him because the stolen goods belonged to two victims of the rapist we’re calling Pattern 20,” Rafael answered. He was watching Dr. Rojas carefully. From the complex look on her face, she wasn’t thinking anything good.

“Is he good for the rapes?” Porter asked.

“We don’t think so,” Rafael responded. He thought Rojas was suddenly very quiet for someone who enjoyed sharing her opinions as freely as she did. 

“How’s this tweaker kid know who Frankie is? How’s he make the connection between her and Alan Canady?” Porter mused, looking at Olivia but not particularly asking the question of her. Frankie looked at her, too, hoping she’d have an idea, because that was the question bothering Frankie, too.

“That’s what we’re going to ask him,” Olivia answered. “Let’s get lunch while he’s being booked.”

The group filed out of the office, with Dodds holding the door. Due to her position in the room, Frankie was the last one to reach the door. 

“Doc, a word?” Dodds asked.

“Sure,” she said, hanging back while he re-closed the door.

“I’m sure the Lieu won’t mind if we borrow her office,” Dodds said, indicating the couch. They both sat. 

“What’s on your mind?” She asked.

“That’s my question to you, actually. Guy tries to kill you multiple times, runs you out of two cities and chases you to a third… I’m guessing you have some thoughts about that.”

“You trying to shrink the shrink?” Frankie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Mike simply replied, “Yes.”

Frankie stood, hugging her arms to her waist and looking out the window into the squad room. “I appreciate it, Sergeant. I do. And you’re right. I question what it was about me that this prick thought he could treat me the way he did. I feel like a damn imbecile, choosing him to date when I’m supposed to be an expert on this kind of stuff. But most of all, now I’m fucking scared again. And that pisses me off.”

She turned around to look at him again. “That about what you expected to hear?”

He shrugged. “Just about. You’re the psychiatrist, and you have more experience in this field than I do, but all that sounds pretty damn normal to me.”

“It is. But that doesn’t make me hate it any less.” 

Dodds nodded but didn’t say anything, just giving her an opportunity to talk if she needed to.

“I appreciate the shoulder, Sergeant. But I’d appreciate an arrest more.”

“Understood. And one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve said ‘fucking’ in front of me now. That means you get to call me Mike.”

Frankie insisted upon being in the room when they questioned the tweaker kid again. When Barba refused to allow it, she initially tried to talk him around, but he refused even to consider it. The harder she pushed, the angrier he became, until the argument became so heated, Olivia insisted they go into one of the other interrogation rooms to work it out. She then had to stop Carisi and Rollins from using the speaker to eavesdrop. Even without the speaker, it was easy enough to hear Barba and Rojas shouting at one another in Spanish. Olivia knew just enough to recognize that some of the words they were using were not polite.

“This is my life, Barba! I am going to be there.”

“’This is my life?’ Really? Isn’t that what teenagers say when their parents won’t let them drop out of school to become beat poets?”

“Don’t you fucking patronize me! I have as much right to be in that room as you do, and you cannot keep me out.”

“In fact, you don’t, and I can. And I am.”

“This man has tried to kill me multiple times. He’s here to try again. I’m not playing games here.”

“Neither am I, Doctor. I’m doing my job. I’m making sure that your little tantrum doesn’t destroy three separate criminal cases. One of which, I might add, is yours.”

“My _little tantrum_…?” 

“I realize you aren’t all that familiar with the word ‘no’, but I also realize you have a law degree and, although you’ve never practiced law, you should at least recognize the concept that having the victim do the interrogation is a bit of a conflict of interest.”

Frankie was too angry to form a coherent sentence. “You egotistical son of a… strutting around like a tin-pot dictator in your little fiefdom…”

“Calling names is not particularly refined discourse, Doctor. But if we were calling names, I’d call you a _fresa_[1] and suggest you go have your nails done and let the rest of us get to work.”

”A… A… you did not just call me a _fresa_ to my face.”__

_ _“Nothing wrong with your grasp of the obvious. I’m going to…” He started moving toward the door, but she stepped in front of him, stopping with their faces very close together as they shouted._ _

“I am a fully-qualified Forensic Psychiatrist with all the credentials. I’m perfectly qualified to take part in questioning this suspect. I happen to be very good at interrogations, which you would know if you ever took your eyes off the mirror. I also know this case. _That_ is why I should be in that room! Anything else you might think is utter bullshit.” 

_ _“Really. I can’t help but notice you’re quite unhappy about being one of the lowly victims we work so hard to protect. It’s lovely to play the lady bountiful in your pristine Elie Saab, but it must be terrible for you to have to rub elbows with the great unwashed…”_ _

_ _“Stop talking.” She growled. _ _

_ _“With pleasure. Get out of my way. I have an interrogation to attend.”_ _

_ _For a very, very long moment, they stood there, glaring at one another, their breath heaving in their anger. Rafael was furious and completely frustrated by her irrational, petulant refusal to see reason. He was also painfully hard. Before he lost control of his urge to bend her over the table in the middle of the room, he stepped around Frankie to the door and left without another word. Frankie knew she wanted to throw him to the ground at that moment. What she didn’t know was which she wanted to do first, fuck him or punch his lights out._ _

_ _

_ _[1] Literally means “strawberry”, but is Mexican and Latin American slang meaning stuck up, fake, snob, one who thinks they’re better than everyone else because they were born rich, and are well-educated._ _


	3. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba is killing it at trial, until the person stalking his expert witness shows up in the courtroom. Barba gets her safely out of the courtroom but the stalker hasn't done anything worthy of arrest, so he is let go. They don't get along, but since she is unable to go home, Barba gives her a safe place.

Rafael was impressed with the way Dr. Rojas presented as an expert witness. She had plenty of experience testifying, of course, and anyone would listen to her once they heard her credentials, even if she hadn’t been as articulate and poised as she was. Plenty of expert witnesses were either incapable of speaking at a level understandable by a jury, which was off-putting, or sounded as though they were intentionally dumbing down their words, which was insulting. Rojas didn’t. She had an ability to explain complex matters and introduce technical terms in a way that was understandable and relatable without being condescending. It didn’t hurt that she wore her shiny, black hair in a French twist that would have been severe except for the gently curling strands that escaped it to soften her look, and a simple but elegant suit in a subtle green that flattered her warm, coppery skin tone. She was accomplished and beautiful but, because of her open, friendly manner, the jury found her attractive rather than threatening. 

Frankie had needed almost no preparation, which was fortunate for both her and Rafael because, after their argument a few days before, they were almost unable to speak to one another normally. For Rafael, it was difficult to disguise the deep feelings she aroused in him. He wanted her, there was no question about that. And, after the way she had responded to him in the interrogation room, he was certain that she wanted him, too. He would have been very excited by that, except that he also despised what she stood for and found her personally irritating in the extreme. Even hearing her name generated a physical and emotional heat he had to work around in everything having to do with her. It was not an ideal situation for a Prosecutor questioning an expert witness in a felony trial. 

It was no easier for Frankie. In fact, after spending the past two days watching him own this courtroom, dealing with Barba had only become more difficult. She was always attracted to talent and intelligence, and had a special predilection for men who were clever with language. Barba was like a rock star on stage as he subtly, expertly maneuvered the trial in exactly the way he intended. It was exquisite torture to watch him in his perfectly-tailored suits that allowed her to imagine exactly what she would discover if she took them off, until she caught herself being lulled into those thoughts and roughly yanked herself back to the present. She only wished she could see his facial expressions which, over the last few days, had become entirely fascinating and electrifying to her. Just watching him lift an eyebrow or twitch his lips could be disturbingly erotic. She still didn’t like him, but she probably owed Amanda a dozen cupcakes, because she’d skipped right over thinking Barba was hot to desperately wanting to jump him. Worse, after their argument in the interrogation room, she was fully aware that he knew how she felt. 

Rafael saw the moment Rojas spotted Alan Canady in the courtroom. It was as though someone had thrown a switch that drained all color from her face and caused tiny beads of sweat to pop out on her forehead. The fear that instantly clouded her features scared him a little, too. Fortunately, it was very near the end of her testimony and he was questioning her on redirect, which gave him options. He sauntered, seemingly casually, toward the witness stand and stood next to her, between her and the jury box. 

“_¿Estas bien?_”[1] 

“No. Alan _esta aqui. Cuarta fila. Mi derecha_.”[2] 

“OK. _Escucha, ¿puedes esperar un poco? Él no puede hacer nada mientras estás en el estrado_.”[3] 

“_No se_-“[4] 

The defense attorney objected to the whispered conversation, which objection the judge sustained. 

“Apologies, your honor, I was just asking the doctor whether she needed a break.” 

“Dr. Rojas?” The judge lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” Frankie responded, willing her voice not to shake. 

Rafael purposely asked her several questions he knew defense counsel would want to follow up, specifically to keep Frankie safely on the stand after he was done questioning her. Once he had completed his redirect and had retaken his seat, that allowed him to whisper to Fin Tutuola, sitting next to Sonny Carisi directly behind Barba in the gallery. While Frankie answered the defense’s follow-up questions, Fin whispered to Carisi, who then left the courtroom, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went. Fin quietly moved to where Alan Canady was seated in the courtroom and sat down a little too close to him, whispering something that caused Canady to scowl. But he didn’t get up from his seat.

When the judge excused Frankie from the witness stand, her first instinct was to flee from the courtroom. Instead, since Carisi had returned, she went to sit next to him. She had seen what Barba had done, so she knew that Alan was under control for the moment. But she was still comforted by the fact that she was touching shoulders with an armed police detective who knew the situation. She wondered who he had called when he briefly left the courtroom. As court was adjourned for the day, she turned to him to ask, but was surprised when Carisi took her upper arm, saying, “Come with me.”

He led her through the railing to the prosecution table, where Barba was hastily shoving a few things into his briefcase and instructing the junior A.D.A. who was sitting second chair regarding the rest of the materials on the table. Frankie looked behind her to see that Fin was standing next to Alan, whom he had apparently instructed not to leave his seat. Alan was glaring daggers at her, with an evil leer that shot a surge of fearful nausea through her. Barba nodded to Carisi and they led her past the judge’s bench to the door on the other side, Barba before and Carisi behind her. That level of protection both reassured her and ratcheted up her terror. 

Barba opened up the door to a small room with a scarred wooden table surrounded by a disorganized set of battered, mismatched chairs, with additional chairs along two of the walls. 

“We’ll be fine in here,” he told Carisi. “No one can get through that door without getting past the bailiffs, and Canady can’t get into the courthouse armed.”

“Right. I’mma go back Fin up. I’ll get the bailiffs to put someone outside this door, and I’ll come get you when Porter gets here.” 

When he left, Frankie began to pace the small room. Rafael set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a chair.

“Do you want some coffee?” He asked before sitting. 

She looked alarmed at the question and reached out a hand to him. “No! Please, don’t-” Realizing how that must have sounded, Frankie quickly said, in a softer, more controlled voice, “I’m sorry. I just meant…”

“I know. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just ask someone to bring us some. OK?”

“OK. Yes. Please.”

She decided to try to sit down while Barba muttered to someone passing in the hall. It was no good; almost as soon as she’d felt the chair under her, she’d become too agitated to sit still and stood again. Barba closed the door and turned back to her. Now that they were alone, they instinctively lapsed into Spanish.

“I saw what you did,” Frankie told him. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure. I’m killing out there, so I don’t want anything to happen that might cause a mistrial.” 

Rather than making her mad, the joke had the intended effect of comforting her. “Cocky asshole,” she said, shaking her head, her lips twisting into a slight, involuntary grin. 

“Not gonna deny it.” He took his seat and looked at her. “You OK?” 

“Yeah. Thanks to you. You’re pretty quick on your feet.” 

“You talking about the trial, or – “ he indicated the room. 

“Both. It’s nice to see that your ego isn’t entirely unwarranted.” 

“Careful, Doctor. That was dangerously close to a compliment. Remember who you’re dealing with here.” 

“Oh, I remember, don’t you worry. But I have to admit, you are sort of killing this trial, and you did just get me out of a jam, so… I’d say don’t let it go to your head, but why waste my breath?”

Barba’s smile, and the resulting rush of heat, finally got Frankie to sit down. She wondered how she could possibly be horny at this particular moment, but in this tiny room with this stupidly handsome man who had done nothing all day but impress her, she couldn’t help it. 

They sat, not speaking, Rafael reviewing his notes and Frankie, having jumped up again to pace the room as soon as the surge of hormones cleared her system, making him nervous with her restlessness. After ten minutes of that, Rafael handed her a report written by the defense’s expert psychiatrist.

“Make yourself useful,” he grunted. “See if you can think of anything else I can attack this on.” 

She took the report from him, preparing to review it standing up. “What are we waiting for, exactly? Fin and Carisi have Alan, why can’t I just leave?”

“Quit complaining and read your report.”

“Well, what’s taking so long?” 

“Doctor, when a team of professionals from three different agencies are working to protect your shapely ass, a little gratitude is generally expected.” 

“You think my ass is shapely?” 

“_That’s _what you got out of that? I was calling you ungrateful.”

“And shapely.”

Barba sighed and went back to his notes. 

It was half an hour later when Carisi knocked softly and entered the room. “Porter’s taken Canady to Federal Plaza,” he told them. “So Doc, you don’t want to go back to your office right now. And until we know whether the feds are gonna be able to arrest him, I’m afraid it’s not a good idea to go home, either.”

“It’s a very secure building,” Frankie began. 

“It’s the precinct or Barba’s office. You pick, and I’ll get you there safely.” 

“But he’s in custody!” 

“He’s not. He’s being questioned, but he can leave any time unless Porter finds a way to arrest him. So we need to move now. Where’d you like to go?” 

“I have a ton of work to do,” she sighed, sounding whiny and ungrateful even to herself.

“My office,” Barba said to Carisi as he re-packed his briefcase. “I’ll be there prepping all night, anyway, and it’s quieter, so _la fresa_[5] will at least be able to work in peace.” 

“Barba, you-“ She decided not to finish that thought in front of Sonny. 

Carisi grinned and opened the door, sweeping a hand toward the hallway. Rafael took the report from Frankie’s hand as he preceded her into the hallway. 

“What’d you call her?” Carisi asked Barba, speaking across Frankie as though they didn’t flank her protectively as they walked down the hallway. 

“She knows,” Barba smirked. 

The evening was quiet and actually fairly comfortable as Rafael worked at his desk and Frankie worked on her laptop on the table in his office. She envied this beautiful space; the plush quietness was much nicer than the industrial government-issue feel of her own office in Federal Plaza. She’d instantly liked his assistant, Carmen, perhaps because she felt such sympathy for her, having to work for a bully like Barba. Carmen’s last act before leaving for the day had been to order them Szechuan food from the place Mr. Barba liked so that they could have dinner while they worked. 

Carmen was intrigued. Francisca Rojas was nothing like Mr. Barba had described her, and his interaction with her was decidedly unlike his interaction with people he disliked as much as he claimed to dislike her. Besides which, Carmen didn’t need to be as intuitive as she was to see the sizzle between her boss and Dr. Rojas. As much as Carmen liked Mr. Barba – and she liked him better than any of the attorneys she’d worked for in the past – she found him inexplicable when it came to women. He relied upon Carmen to do much of the work surrounding his dating life – plan dates and make reservations, get tickets, send flowers, choose gifts – so she knew his tastes. He claimed to be too busy to do it himself, and that Carmen was much better at that stuff than he was, but she suspected that it was closer to the truth to say that he really couldn’t be bothered. Mr. Barba dated a lot of beautiful, accomplished women who seemed to like him as much as Carmen did. But she could never figure out why a man as nice as he was – and he_ was_ nice, despite what he wanted the world to think – never seemed to get very emotionally involved. 

When his phone chimed to let him know their food had arrived, Rafael told Frankie he was going down to the front lobby to retrieve it. The look on her face was only slightly less fearful than it had been at the courthouse when he’d offered to get coffee.

“It’s OK, Doctor. You couldn’t be safer. Not only can’t he know you’re here, he couldn’t get in even if he did. Sit tight, I’ll only be a minute.” His voice was meant to be reassuring, but she found it distinctly sexy, instead. She had thought from the beginning that his voice was sexy when he used a certain tone, and now that she thought pretty much everything he did was sexy, she was almost relieved to have him leave the room for a moment.

She took the opportunity to look around. The first thing she noticed was that his framed diploma showed he had graduated _Magna Cum Laude _from Harvard Law. She wasn’t surprised, but she was deeply impressed. Frankie had only graduated _Cum Laude_ from law school, and she had to imagine that Harvard’s law program was tougher than A&M’s. She wondered whether Barba had chosen the art on the walls in his office. She liked it. She appreciated not only the historical subject matter, but the way the pictures themselves complemented the overall gravitas projected by the office. Her mouth quirked as she wondered whether Barba had intended that, to lend himself more gravitas. Not that he needed it, anyone who spent more than five minutes with him would have a healthy respect for his ability, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He returned sooner than she expected, noting that she was standing in front of a bookshelf studying the titles. 

“Preparing a critique of my reading choices?”

“Hmmmm,” she responded noncommittally. “I can’t help but notice you have a copy of ‘Twenty-Five Acts’, which is in questionable taste…” 

“Would you believe that was for a case?” 

“Yes, but only because I already knew that. And that doesn’t explain why you still have it.” Her mocking half-grin unsettled Rafael. 

She sat back down at the table in front of her laptop as he stood nearby, taking cartons of food from the bag he’d placed there. They smelled delicious. 

“Don’t work through dinner. That’s a terrible habit. Come sit on the couch and talk to me.” 

“I don’t want to talk about ‘Twenty-Five Acts.’” 

“You don’t even want to know how I got Cain convicted?”

“I know how you got Cain convicted. And bragging, while perhaps a little bit deserved in that case, is rude.”

“You already think I’m rude.”

“I_ know_ you’re rude. So why should I come over there and talk to you?” 

“Because you’re a doctor, and you should know that polite conversation is better for the digestion than reading about depraved criminals. And before you say anything: yes, I am capable of polite conversation.” 

“This I gotta see.”

Frankie chose a carton and a fork and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Rafael, leaving her shoes on the floor and tucking her legs under her, which meant she had to pull her fitted skirt a little up her thighs. Rafael stifled a groan. Rather than say what he was thinking about her legs, he asked, “Fork? Really?” 

“Sue me. I’m from Texas.” 

“That’s no excuse not to know how to use chopsticks.” 

“Mmm-hmmm. ‘I know how to make polite conversation’ he says. I knew you couldn’t do it.” 

Forget hot. He was gorgeous when he laughed. “OK, that one I deserved. Sorry.”

“Maybe we could just eat in blessed silence.”

“No. I want to hear about growing up in Texas. Please keep it to culture. I don’t want to hear about any mansions or butlers. I’m eating.” 

Rafael was very fortunate not to be eating at the moment she threw her head back and laughed. The way her long, graceful neck arched, the flash of white teeth, the music of her laughter, or any one of those could have caused him to choke. As a doctor, she probably knew the Heimlich Maneuver, and he did want her to put her arms around him, but still. 

“Is _that_ what you think? Oh, Barba, you clearly did not do a very good job on your research. I did _not_ grow up in a mansion. I have, in fact, met real butlers, but it was at other people’s houses, and they freak me out. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say to them, and I refuse to pretend they’re not there.”

Rafael was stunned, and not only because the flush of amusement that animated her face made him want to laugh with her almost as much as he wanted to kiss her. He had clearly missed something.

“You’re BioRed Pharmaceuticals. You have more money than God.”

“BioRed Pharmaceuticals is a corporation, and my _father_ has more money than God. You did take Corporations at Harvard, right? Trusts and Estates? You understand how property works?”

“Let’s stick to your story. You’ve got me interested now. So, no mansions or butlers?”

“None. I grew up on a working ranch, where my family still lives. I ride workhorses and I’m pretty good at roping steer, which is a skill I’ve considered using on you a time or two, and I’m holding in reserve, just in case. Never played polo, never even _seen_ polo. All my ridin’ and ropin’ was done in the course of long, hard workdays, because that’s how we were raised. I will admit that my father paid my way through school, so I don’t have any student loans. But I’ve had to earn my own money since the day I started getting an allowance.”

“But… your clothes.”

“I like clothes. I spend too much on them. What’s your excuse?”

“Same. But I don’t have a billionaire father.” 

“I guarantee you I get less money from my father than you do from yours.”

“My father is dead.” 

“OK, then I get exactly as much money from mine as you do from yours. Which is to say, none. He believes in working for a living.” 

“And who’s ‘we’? You said ‘that’s not how we were raised.’” 

“I’m one of six kids.” 

“Really? Oldest, no doubt.” 

“Wrong again. I have three older brothers and two younger ones.” 

“Wait… you have _five_ brothers? I should probably have found that out before I started talking to you the way I do. And they’re from Texas… can they shoot?”

“Can they _shoot_? You _have_ heard of Texas, right? You know what happens on a ranch?”

“Can _you_ shoot?”

“I can shoot the eye out of an iguana at a hundred paces.”

“Shit.” 

“Does this mean you’re going to be nicer to me from now on?”

“Of course not. But it does mean I’m going to ask Liv for a bulletproof vest.” 

“Don’t bother.”

“Is that a threat, Annie Oakley?”

“No, it means I don’t have a gun. I hate ‘em. Although, with Alan around again, maybe I oughtta re-think that.”

“You could always lasso him.”

“Shootin's more fun. At least, in Alan’s case.”

“Also more illegal.”

“Spoilsport. But I don’t want to talk about Alan. Tell me about you. Where’d you grow up?”

“Right here. The Bronx. With my eight siblings.”

“You have no siblings.”

“I have eight.”

“No. There are practically entire textbooks about how your personality says you’re an only child. Beloved and the pride of your family, but an only child.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Everyone who has ever met me knows that. The real question is, why are you avoiding telling me about your childhood?”

“I’m not avoiding it.”

“You’re so avoiding it.”

“No, I’m – Ok, fine. I was small and nerdy and I sucked at sports. I had two best friends who did all the same things I did and I was always the one who got caught. Which was fine, because I could always talk my way out of trouble.”

Frankie was smiling at him while she listened. He was so damn _cute_. If anyone had told her before this moment that she would have thought that, she’d have laughed or maybe assessed their mental competence. But it was true. 

“I loved my _abuelita_. She was my favorite person in the world. No matter what happened in my life, she thought I was the smartest, and the best, and that I could do anything. She used to call me _el juez_.[6] Even before I got into law school.”

“I think I’m in love with your _abuelita_.”

“Me, too. I miss her. We lost her last year.”

“I’m sorry.“

Half an hour of sweet stories about Rafael’s childhood later, Barba’s desk phone rang. They both turned to look at it. “You know what this is going to be,” he said.

She slid her shoes back on and followed him to the desk, standing on the other side while he listened to Dean Porter. Rafael’s side of the conversation was almost nothing except an occasional “uh-huh.”

Frankie was almost frantic by the time he hung up. “Well?” 

Rafael looked her in the eye as he told her that they had gotten nothing out of Canady, and hadn’t had any reason to arrest him.

“So he’s just out there somewhere.”

“I’m sorry. Porter says you shouldn’t go home. Canady was pretty pissed when he left.”

“Fuck that. He is not driving me out of my home. Not again.”

Frankie stomped over to the table and rummaged in her purse for her phone, plucking it out and beginning to touch the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for an all-night gun store.”

Rafael took the phone from her. “I can think of at least five reasons that’s not a good idea, but the only one you’re going to listen to is that there’s a three-day waiting period. You might as well relax and get used to the idea that you’re not going home.”

She grabbed the phone roughly from his hand and threw it back into her purse, then slammed her laptop closed and began shoving things into her carryall. “That is so easy for you to say. You’re safe. You can go home. You don’t have some deranged asshole following you around the country trying to kill you. Well, fuck him. If he wants to kill me so bad, let him try. So maybe I can’t get a gun tonight, but I got plenty of knives in my kitchen and I might as well be comfortable while I wait.”

“Francisca, stop it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn straight I’m not! I’m pissed off!” She stormed toward the door, with him right behind her. “I’ll show myself out.”

“You can’t-”

She turned to him. “I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of opening a door.”

“And similarly capable of making a very bad, very dangerous decision in a fit of temper. Which I am not going to allow you to do.”

He took the last few steps toward her and they both reached for the doorknob. Standing chest to chest, her hand on the doorknob and his hand on hers, they faced one another, both angry.

“You’re not walking out of here alone. And you’re not going home.”

“You really think you can stop me?”

“You really gonna make me?”

Their faces got closer with each word. “You are so…”

“Yes?” He asked, putting his arm around her and leaning so that his lips were almost touching hers.

“Annoying and frustrating,” she closed the distance. “And arrogant, and…” Their lips met in a molten kiss.

“Well, you’re conceited and short-tempered and you drive me up a wall,” he gasped, pushing her against the door with his body. Taking his hand from the doorknob, he encircled her with both arms as he captured her mouth with his.

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” She panted into the kiss.

“Not when I have something to say.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She asked, burying her hands in his hair the way she’d been wanting to for days as she responded to his probing tongue.

“You’re not exactly silent yourself,” he muttered.

She gave herself completely over to the sensations he was creating in her. He used his mouth on hers in ways that had her beginning to moan after only a few minutes, as she moved her body to fit it more closely to his.

“Nothing to say?” He gasped, moving to kiss down her neck.

“I have plenty to say.” She whispered between breaths. “I’m prioritizing.”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Damn right I am, but not because you said so. Because I want to.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he growled.

Rafael and Frankie scandalized the cab driver who took them from Rafael’s office to his apartment. Rafael had pulled the silky shell she wore out of her waistband and unhooked her bra by the time they reached his apartment building, hands all over her breasts as he ravished her mouth. He had no idea how much the fare was, or how much cash he tossed into the front seat as he followed Frankie out of the cab. 

By the time the elevator reached his floor, Frankie had Rafael’s tie off and his shirt undone, and a fairly significant purple mark on the front of her neck. As soon as they closed his door behind them, she’d removed his jacket, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and practically torn off his shirt. She threw them to the floor and reached to pull his undershirt up, but he pushed her jacket from her shoulders, causing her to have to stop her progress in undressing him to allow him to remove it. She reached for him again, but he moved her hands out of the way.

“You’re so fucking pushy,” she complained as they broke their nearly continual kisses so that he could pull her shell up and over her head. He paid no attention to what he did with it, and neither did she, because their lips were again enmeshed and he flicked her bra off and began working on her skirt. She remembered to be grateful she’d worn nice lingerie today. 

“And you’re way too fucking spoiled,” he muttered, allowing her to take off his undershirt before slipping her skirt down her hips to fall onto the floor. She pulled at the fly of his trousers as he again began to fondle her breasts. It took her little time to get his pants unfastened and run her palm down his abdomen, under the waistband of his boxers, and take hold of his stiff member. He groaned as she’d hoped he would.

With very little effort, he pulled his trousers and boxers down and stepped out of them. She was too engrossed in his penis to pay attention to how he got his shoes and socks off, but noticed when he took one of her hands and led her toward what she assumed was his bedroom. She stepped out of her shoes on the way. They didn’t bother with lights; there was plenty of light coming in through the window from the city beyond. When they reached the bed, he turned and took her into his arms again, falling with her onto the mattress. Somehow they wriggled and rolled their way to lying side by side, lips and hungry mouths never parting. 

When he ran a hand up her thigh to the moist crotch of her panties, she let out a moan that could have made him come right then, but he kept a hold on his desire long enough to quickly pull the skimpy boy shorts off her body. 

“Shit,” he gasped. “We need to talk about… consent, and protection…” He was breathing almost too hard to speak.

“I’m clean and I’m on the pill and if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, _that’s_ when we’re gonna have a problem,” she growled.

“Impolite, and disrespectful,” he murmured, moving into position and gently nudging her thighs apart. “Impatient, and… oh, fuck!”

He kissed her, hard and messy and frenzied, as he began to thrust into her. 

“Yeah, well, you’re… uhn… uncivil and surly… oh… and bossy…”

“Tell me how to make you come,” he grunted.

“See? Bossy… oh, shit… fuck, Barba… I’m… Just like that! Just… like…” 

Frankie could not remember the last time she had come just from being fucked. Well, at that moment, she couldn’t remember her own name. But she somehow found a small part of her brain with which to be astounded at how good Barba felt inside her and the ease with which he had brought her to this shouting, incoherent climax.

He followed just as she began to come down. Did he actually call her_ fresa_ in the midst of his orgasm? Oh, this man was absolutely impossible. Entirely, completely impossible. 

[1] Are you all right?

[2] Alan is here. Fourth row. My right.

[3] OK. Listen, can you hang on for a little while? He can’t do anything while you’re on the stand.

[4] I don’t know.

[5] See definition in Chapter 2

[6] The judge


	4. What If...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Rafael Barba has a lot of sex with his temporary houseguest and she has a theory and then they have more sex. And they eat dinner.

Frankie really, really did not want to untangle herself from Rafael to answer her phone, but she’d put it on the bedside table in case the NYPD or FBI needed to get in touch with her, and the screen told her it was Dean Porter. As she rolled back toward Rafael, she put the phone on speaker so that he could hear the call. 

“I have some news,” Porter said without preamble.

“Shit. What did he do?”

“He set your car on fire. Well, he didn’t, he had the tweaker kid do it. But your car is destroyed.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“No, the parking garage near the courthouse has a good sprinkler system. Only damage was to your car. It’s all on video. Pretty brazen.”

“Did you catch the tweaker kid?”

“I’m sorry. Not yet. But he hasn’t come near your apartment, so there’s that.”

“I haven’t made it to the DMV yet, so the registration on my car still has my Virginia address.”

“Then there’s a chance he doesn’t know where you live yet. But it’s the twenty-first century, lots of ways he can find that out. We can’t take that for granted. Don’t tell me where you are on a cell phone, but are you in a safe place?”

“Yes.”

“Then wherever you are, you should stay there.”

Frankie looked up at Rafael, leaning over her in his bed with a concerned expression and a serious case of bed head. 

“I will.”

“We’ll keep you informed.”

“Thanks, Dean. I appreciate everything you all are doing.” She hit the “end” button on the phone, tossed it aside on the bed, and threw her arm around Barba’s neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss.

“See? Gratitude’s not that difficult,” he muttered, tickling her lips with his laugh.

“_Cállate_.[1] He torched my car.”

“That’s why there’s insurance.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.” They were getting very good at talking and kissing – even serious kissing – at the same time.

“I’ll be sympathetic later. Right now, I’m- what did you call it? Prioritizing.”

“You’re doing a good job,” she breathed, arching her body toward him.

“Another polite comment. You’re much nicer when you’re getting laid.”

“You’re not.”

******************************

A lazy, sensual, and very satisfying half hour later, Rafael had to get up to go to work. He wouldn’t let Frankie join him in the shower. 

“You’ve done enough damage,” he said sternly. “I’ve had no sleep, and I did about a third of the trial prep I had intended last night. You’re just lucky I’m so good at what I do. Otherwise I’d drag you in front of the judge and make you explain yourself.”

“No problem. She’s a woman. She can see how _rico_[2] you are. She’ll understand completely.”

He smiled as he leaned over and kissed her. “You’re shameless.”

Frankie just giggled. When he got up and went into the bathroom to shower, she stretched luxuriously and rolled over, asleep before he even got under the spray. 

***********************************

He was fully dressed as he leaned over the bed and kissed her awake. She groaned. 

“Don’t answer the door. I’ll call and check on you as often as I can.”

“Kick that defense attorney’s ass,” she muttered.

“Already in process,” he grinned, giving her another quick kiss before standing up and moving toward the door.

“Barba,” Frankie called. He turned back toward her, hovering in the doorway. She was a gorgeous mess – hair comb long since fallen out, leaving her long, black tresses to spread across his pillows, sleepy eyes sparkling but half-open, lying tangled in a sea of hopelessly disordered bedding – and he felt a physical pang of desire to dive back in with her.

“Thank you. For letting me stay here,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

He hesitated. They both wanted to say more, to discuss what had happened between them, but neither knew yet what they wanted to say. They settled for smiling at one another before he turned and left for court. 

***********************

Barba had been right. Even the defense attorney had to admit that Barba had the trial won. During the first recess of the day, after Barba had annihilated the defense’s expert psychiatric witness using the questions Dr. Rojas had helped him prepare, the defendant had accepted a very satisfactory plea deal. Which meant that, only a few hours later, Rafael was able to call it a day. He had more work to do than he could possibly handle, and could have made a good dent using the extra time the plea deal had provided, but he uncharacteristically allowed his second-chair to wrap up the paperwork on the trial and called Carmen to say he wouldn’t be coming back to the office. Alone at her desk, Carmen indulged in a facial expression that clearly showed her intrigue at this news. 

“It’s just me, _Señorita Fresa_,[3]” he called as he let himself into his apartment.

Since he had texted to warn her he was coming home, Frankie wasn’t frightened by Rafael’s entrance. He was taken aback, however, to see her, sitting in a reading chair with the sun streaming in the window making her look like she was aglow. Her hair was down around her shoulders, ruler-straight and gleaming, and her face was radiantly beautiful without a touch of makeup. His royal blue zip-up sweatshirt was huge on her, as were his jogging pants, which she’d had to roll up to be able to walk in them. She was about a third of the way through ‘Slaughterhouse Five’, one of Rafael’s favorites. 

“What did you call me?” She tilted her head with a fake frown.

“Sorry. _Doctor Fresa_,” he corrected.

She shook her head, laying it back against the soft cushion of the deep, fluffy armchair she sat in. “You realize that’s an insult,” she said, grinning.

Rafael walked over to her, sitting on the ottoman where she rested her bare feet and leaning toward her, putting a hand on the chair back above her and the other around her waist and pulling her to him. He kissed her for a long time. 

“I don’t know why you’d think so,” he said matter-of-factly. “Strawberries are beautiful.” He kissed her again. “They’re shapely.” This kiss lasted longer, and involved some tongue. “And they’re delicious.”

His hands were all over underneath the sweatshirt she wore, and she moved her body to make sure he had plenty of room to touch her anywhere he chose. When she could speak, she asked breathlessly, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else all morning,” he responded, and she put down her book and followed as he led her to his bedroom.

***********************************

For the rest of the day, neither SVU nor FBI made any progress with the Pattern 20 rapist or finding either the tweaker kid or Alan Canady. In the evening, Rafael emerged, yawning, from taking a few hours’ nap while Frankie continued reading her book. Wearing nothing but sleep pants, his hair adorably askew, he padded to his kitchen. He was delighted to find hot, fresh coffee waiting for him, without having had to make it himself. 

Frankie grinned at him as he stumbled into his living room, coffee in hand, to flop down on his couch.

“How’s the book?” He asked.

“It’s yours, and it’s dog-eared. I’m assuming you’ve read it.”

“I was asking how _you_ like it.”

“Actually, I’ve read it before, too. At the risk of the inevitable mocking I’ll receive from you, I still don’t get it, even on the third reading.”

“I’d like to mock you about that, and I would…”

“Of course you would.”

“Except I find it a little difficult, too.”

“No kidding. That’s quite an admission, coming from you.”

“Mmmmmm. I’m sleep-deprived, undercaffeinated, and hungry. Only explanation for such a moment of vulnerability.”

“Well, today is your lucky day.”

“How so?”

“I’m hungry, too, and you happen to have the makings for Tacos al Pastor. I’m curious as to why, exactly, you have a pineapple, but you do, and I’m a great cook.”

“Can I help?”

“You can hang out and talk to me. Or just sit there looking like that. That works for me, too.”

“I’m told I’m _rico_.”

All Frankie could do was shake her head at that on her way into the kitchen.

*********************

“How hard is it to get a sample of someone’s DNA if you think they’ve committed a crime?” Frankie asked, seemingly at random, while slicing the pineapple half an hour later.

Rafael, sitting at his kitchen table sipping his second cup of coffee, watched her thoughtfully. “Depends on why you think they’ve committed a crime.”

“Well, that’s the thing. It’s just a theory. But it makes sense, if you know the suspect.”

“Not gonna happen. You need more than ‘it could be this person’. You need to ‘proffer a good faith factual predicate sufficient for a court to draw an inference that specifically identified materials are reasonably likely to contain information that has the potential to be both relevant and inculpatory.’"

Frankie stopped cutting and looked at Rafael. “Shit, Barba. That was hot.”

“Really? That works for you? Because I can recite the standard for a 440 motion for ineffective assistance of counsel, too.”

“Before you do that, you’re gonna need sustenance. Because I can’t be responsible for my reaction.” 

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Uh… sex. That was innuendo.”

“Smartass. You know what I mean.”

“OK, so I’ve been trying to figure out where the tweaker kid comes in. Who is he? How does he know Alan? And what does fencing items stolen from rape victims have to do with Alan?”

“And your theory is?” 

“Well, brace yourself, because it’s going to sound a little far-fetched. But not if you know Alan. So, Alan knows what I do for a living, and he knows I work with sexual assault victims. Somehow he finds out I’m in New York, and he looks at FBI recruitments online, which anyone can do. What if Alan raped those women, in hopes it would lead him to me?”

“Francisca, _mi fresa_, you’re right. That’s far-fetched. Very far-fetched. New York is huge. The FBI and NYPD are huge.”

“Yes, but the intersection between the two, with respect to sex crimes, isn’t.”

“And how does that connect Alan and the tweaker kid?”

“So if my theory is correct, then someone has to commit a sex crime. Alan’s on board to hurt and humiliate any number of women, but he’s not going down for a felony. So what he does is, he commits the sex crime, steals valuables from his victims, and hires the tweaker kid to get caught trying to fence them.”

“Why’s the tweaker kid going to do that?”

“Seriously? You need to hang out with more addicts, Barba. They’ll do anything for drug money. The kid gets arrested, looks to see if he can find any trace of me at SVU, gets paid either way but more if he finds me.”

“But he goes to jail.”

“For a day. He gets bail, which Alan pays, then he skips, never to be heard from again.”

“Until Alan needs him to torch your car.”

“Which he’s perfectly happy to do for more drug money. Doesn’t even have to go to jail this time.”

“I don’t know…”

“OK, I’m not asking you to accept my theory. What I’m asking is, would it be enough for a judge to let us DNA-test Alan against the rape victims?”

“Not even close. Sorry.” 

Frankie scowled as she went back to cutting the pineapple. “What would you need?”

“Something tying the suspect to the crimes. A confession. A fingerprint. A piece of physical evidence. Defensive wounds consistent with the victim’s story.” 

“Shit. We have none of that.”

“No, we don’t. We can at least share your theory with Porter and SVU. But I have to tell you, it sounds pretty wacky to me.”

“Not to me. And not to Porter.” 

*************************************

Amanda Rollins took Frankie to her apartment the following afternoon to get some clothes and other necessities. It felt really strange to Frankie to be wearing a bulletproof vest, and increased her sense of being in danger. Even though Amanda was there to ensure her safety, she hurried to pack as quickly as she could, and was relieved when they were back in the squad car, pulling away from Frankie’s building.

“Can we make a stop on the way to where we’re going?” Frankie asked, as casually as she could.

“Sure. Where?”

“Patsy’s cupcakes.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Because you’re about to find out that I’m staying at Barba’s apartment.”

Amanda’s eyes went wide. “OH.” 

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Well, um… Huh.”

“What? You’re the one who said he’s not the guy he seems like at first, and that he’s hot.”

“All of which is true. I stand by it. But listen, Frankie, I… I like you. I think we’re gonna be friends. So I’m gonna tell you something, with the full understanding that I like Barba, and he’s my friend, too. OK?”

“OK.”

“He’s kinda got a… reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?”

“He goes out with a _lot_ of women.”

Frankie laughed. “OK, so he’s a slut. Consider me warned. What makes you think I’m not an even bigger slut?”

“Maybe you are. I just thought, being new in town, you might want to know not to get too attached. Because he doesn’t.”

“Well, thanks, Amanda. I appreciate the heads up. I’ll guard my heart, although I don’t think it’s in too much danger.”

Amanda frowned through the windshield. “Did I cross the line? I apologize if I offended you.”

“Not at all! I like you, too, and I’d like us to be friends. I think we are already. If the situation was reversed, I’d make sure you knew what you were getting into, too. Speaking of which, now that we’ve established that we’re friends and I’m a slut, tell me about your love life.”

Frankie was more bothered by what Amanda had said than she let on. Not that she had feelings for Barba. Of course she didn’t. Her concern was that, in the hormone-drunk frenzy she’d been in since meeting him, she’d completely ignored everything she knew about recreational sex. She knew never, ever to have unprotected sex. Ever. Sure, Barba had been reckless enough to take her hurried word for the fact that she didn’t have any diseases and was on the pill, but that was Barba’s problem. She hadn’t even _asked_ him. That bothered her for a host of reasons, especially now, being told that he slept around. Well, she needed a doctor in New York anyway. She made a mental note to get one and get tested as soon as possible. And if she and Barba were going to be having more sex – and there was no doubt that she and Barba _were_ going to be having more sex – they were definitely using condoms from now on. She frowned. Maybe it was a mistake staying with him. But she told herself that it was safer than staying at a public hotel. 

************************************

Amanda had also taken Frankie by the grocery, so that when Rafael returned to his apartment that evening, he was met with rich cooking smells that drew him into his kitchen. Frankie, in faded jeans and a ribbed turtleneck with one of his aprons covering most of her, was stirring some kind of rice dish that looked complicated. 

“That smells wonderful,” Rafael smiled. “What’s in it?”

“I could tell you,” she answered, “But then I’d have to turn you over to the Federales. Mexican state secret.”

“You’re American.”

“Yes, but my mother wasn’t. A Mexican citizen can legally pass this recipe down to her children, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m terribly sorry, but it’s in Chapter 18 of the Mexican Civil Code.”

“It is not.”

“What an ego. You don’t know what is or isn’t in Chapter 18 of the Mexican Civil Code.”

“Pretty sure your mother’s recipe for _arroz con pollo_[4] isn’t in there.”

“I didn’t say it was. I said-“

That was as far as she got before their lips met and she didn’t say anything more for a long while. When they broke the long string of kisses to catch their breath, he was pressing her against the counter and they were moving together.

“I could definitely get used to coming home to you,” Rafael said without thinking. He could feel Frankie react to that, but she simply laughed.

“It’s not usually like this, believe me. It’s just that, I tried to work today but I’m more distracted than I thought. So I decided to cook, instead. It’s relaxing. Usually, with me you get leftover takeout.”

“That’s a food group around here.”

After a dinner of savory, spicy _arroz_, Rafael excused himself to take a shower while Frankie did the dishes. It wasn’t long, however, before she joined him under the steamy water, playful and audacious. Rafael found himself holding onto the shower head and the handle of the built-in soap dish to keep upright as she drove him to distraction with her mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure how she was managing to breathe down there with the water running, but he trusted her to complain if that was a problem. 

Later, as she lay sprawled across his bed with him half covering her legs while he rested from reciprocating her favor, she asked him whether he’d spoken to SVU or Agent Porter about her theory that Alan might be the rapist.

“I met with them today.”

“And?”

“This is what you want to talk about right this minute?”

She snorted a short laugh. “I suppose my timing is somewhat poor. But it’s on my mind.”

Rafael crawled back up the bed and laid down next to her, putting an arm around her as she curled up against him. “It would be. Sorry. They… think it’s an interesting theory. They’re going to let me know as soon as they come up with anything they think I can use to get a warrant, but I don’t think you should hold your breath.”

Frankie sighed. “It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed these last few days being your kept woman, but I’m about ten minutes from stir crazy. I can’t just sit here and wait for Alan to come for me.”

“No one’s asking you to. They’re working on it. Anyway, I’m not complaining.”

“You’re not, are you? I hardly recognize you.”

“And here I thought we’d turned a corner, you and me. Turns out you’re still obnoxious.”

Her body moved delightfully against his as she chuckled. “Maybe. But you like me.”

“I do not. I tolerate you because it turns out you’re a hell of a cook. It’s you who likes me.”

“No, I don’t. I will admit, I am pleasantly surprised to find that you are… not _entirely_ without your charms. And if I _must _hide, here with you is preferable to a Turkish prison. But I still think you’re arrogant and… have other undesirable qualities that escape my mind right now because you’re distracting me with your fingers.”

“You find this distracting, do you?”

“Very.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Oh, hell, no.”

******************************

The following day, Mike Dodds got a call about a sexual assault in progress in Chelsea. The witness who reported it had asked for “Sergeant Dodds from SVU” in particular, which was very strange, but he and Olivia Benson were rolling anyway. They figured that the uniforms would get there before they could, but SVU would be among the first on the scene, so hopefully they wouldn’t muck up the evidence too much before they got there. In one of those rare, strange New York City coincidences, SVU and the uniformed patrol officers arrived on scene at the same time.

Tearing up the stairs to the fourth floor of the cheap motel, Dodds in the lead, the SVU detectives pulled their weapons and told the uniforms to stay back. That was why Mike Dodds and Olivia Benson were the first two people through the door, and the ones who saw Dr. Francisca Rojas, covered in blood, kneeling over a man’s body with her hand on the handle of a knife plunged into his chest. She looked up as they approached the open door, horror-stricken expressions on all of their faces.

“I didn’t do this,” she said, holding up both hands, from which blood was dripping freely.

[1] Shut up

[2] Literally means “delicious”, Cuban slang for a hot guy

[3] See definition in Chapter 2

[4] Rice with chicken


	5. A Bloody Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba's colleague is arrested and remanded to Riker's Island for murdering her ex-boyfriend with Barba's knife. It looks very bad. But he's only known her for a month. He's only been sleeping with her for three days. So it's really just a nuisance for him. Right?

Frankie knelt where she was, next to the blood-soaked man with her hands up, thick drops of blood making trails of gore down her forearms. 

“Please… he had a pulse.” Her eyes were wild and her voice was a shriek of desperation. “It was weak, but I’ve lost it now. I need to continue CPR-“

“Step away from him, Doctor. Do it now.” Dodds was using his commanding, authoritative voice, and Frankie was too dazed not to obey, even as she gasped with panic and resistance. She took two steps to the side of the body, not wanting to get any closer to Dodds or Benson, with their weapons drawn and aimed directly at her. 

When Rojas had cleared the body, Benson stepped to it, leaned down and felt for a carotid pulse. Nothing. But the guy was still warm. 

“Please, Olivia! Let me at least try!” Rojas was starting to lose it. Fat tears were trailing down her cheeks from eyes huge with terror. 

“He’s gone,” Benson said. “He’s lost too much blood.”

At that moment, a team of paramedics burst into the room and pushed the cops and Rojas aside to work on the victim. Dodds took Frankie by the forearm and led her to the side of the room, giving them space to work. 

“Who is that guy?” Dodds asked, glaring down at Frankie in full cop mode as he holstered his weapon. 

“That’s… That’s Alan Canady.”

Dodds and Benson shared a look. If anything, this was worse than it had at first appeared. In that moment, it got even worse. The paramedics pronounced the man dead and covered him with a sheet.

“No! He had a pulse! I did CPR! Try! Please, you can’t just give up!” Dodds had to hold Frankie by the shoulders as she tried to lunge over to the victim.

“Lady, that knife’s in his heart. I’d bet my house on it. He’s dead,” one of the paramedics said with no attempt at kindness even though he had no idea who the man had been to this woman. 

Frankie issued a wordless wail of despair. 

Olivia put herself between Frankie and the body. “Tell us what happened.”

“I didn’t do this!” She shouted. 

“Talk to me. Tell me what happened,” Olivia said sternly, leaning into Frankie’s face. 

“They… They… They let me go back to my office today. The tweaker kid – his name is Juwon – he was waiting for me there when I went outside at lunch. I wasn’t even going to go anywhere, I just wanted to be outside for a minute! There was an FBI agent right there in the lobby, I don’t know why he didn’t see…”

“What happened?” Dodds asked, gently but firmly pulling her back to the facts.

“He stepped up to me and he said, ‘Alan knows about Barba. If you don’t want what happened to your car to happen to Barba, meet him at this hotel.’ And he gave me this room number.”

“So you just came over here? There was an FBI agent a few feet away and you didn’t ask for help?”

“He said Alan would kill Barba if I told the FBI or the cops!”

“All right, all right,” Liv said. “Then what happened?”

“I came here. I didn’t even go back up to my office. I had my wallet because I was going to get some coffee from the cart in the lobby, so I just hopped a bus and came here. And when I got here, Alan was standing there, holding a knife. He did this. He stabbed himself! Now I know what he was doing with his fingers…” She looked away, as if remembering.

“What are you talking about?” Dodds asked.

“He did this weird thing with his fingers. At the time, I thought it looked like he was counting his ribs. That must’ve been exactly what he was doing! He meant to kill himself. He meant to stab himself in the heart!” Frankie turned back to the body and began to cry in earnest. “Oh, my God! That’s what he meant! He’s …”

“OK, look at me,” Olivia said, putting a hand on Frankie’s shoulder and turning her to face Olivia. “So you get to this room, and then what? You knock? What?”

“No. The door was open. He was just… standing there. Right where he is now. And he did that thing with his fingers, and he said ‘I get it now. But if I can’t have you, I’m taking you with me.’ And then he… just…” she mimed setting a knife against her chest, taking a deep breath, and pushing it in.

“He stabbed himself,” Olivia asked, looking into her eyes.

“Yes! He put the knife right where he wanted it to go, and he just… pushed it in. Hard.” Frankie put her bloody hands to her face as she continued to cry. 

Neither Dodds nor Benson had any idea what to make of this. Could a person actually do that?

“OK, Frankie… let’s keep going. What happened next? What did you do?”

“He… he fell over, just like you see him. I ran to him, I was screaming, I don’t know. I grabbed the knife, but I knew if I pulled it out, he’d bleed worse than if I left it in. So I felt for a pulse, and it was weak. I didn’t have my phone, I’d left it at the office, so I just screamed for help. Then I lost his pulse, and I moved to do CPR, but the knife moved, so I had to hold it while I did compressions with one hand… And then you came in. Oh, God! I didn’t do this! Please…”

Benson and Dodds eventually took Frankie to another room in the hotel while the CSU team began to process the scene. They asked her again and again what had happened, but got no more details. A CSU tech took an endless series of photographs of Frankie while Dodds and Benson questioned her.

An hour into the investigation, as Frankie sat on a small, uncomfortable chair, still encrusted with drying blood and still near-hysterical, a tall, severe-looking man in a suit entered the room. Dodds and Benson shared a look, and Dodds went to talk to the man. 

“Who is that? What’s happening?” Frankie panted.

“That’s ADA Stone.”

“No. Oh, please, no. Olivia, I didn’t do this! Alan did it! I tried to help him!” 

“I know, Frankie. I hear you. Stone’s good, but he’s fair. Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

“Shit, Liv. I can’t… If the ADA is here, I need to stop talking to you.”

Olivia nodded, looking into Frankie’s eyes. “Yeah, Doc. You probably do.” 

Frankie dissolved completely into tears. 

“Listen,” Olivia whispered to her, looking over her shoulder at Stone to make sure he was engrossed in his conversation with Dodds. “I’m gonna call Barba. I’ll ask him to get you the best possible lawyer. OK?”

Frankie could only nod as she choked on her sobs. 

It took very little time for ADA Stone to instruct Dodds to arrest Frankie. Colleagues or not, Dodds couldn’t argue with the man’s reasoning. He tried to be as kind as he could as he cuffed her and explained her rights. She continued to cry and look terrified, but she was beginning to get the glassy-eyed look suspects got when it began to sink in that this was all really happening. The only good thing was that she was smart enough not to say anything more about what had happened beyond repeating, “I didn’t do this.” Those were the only four words she said to Peter Stone as she was led past him to the squad car. 

**************

Frankie was finally allowed to change clothes and shower once they got her to the M.E.’s office and examined. Not particularly out of kindness, but because her blood-soaked clothes were now evidence. She couldn’t have cared less what she looked like, which was good, because she looked pretty much the way she felt, but at least she was no longer covered in Alan Canady’s blood. The awful, cheap grey OCME sweats were thin and baggy, and the stains on the yellowed T-shirt they gave her to wear underneath were something Frankie was simply not going to acknowledge. Things were bad enough. The only thing she allowed herself to think about the rough, white cotton socks and plastic shower shoes was that they were exactly like the ones she’d seen on ‘Orange Is The New Black’. 

From there, Dodds took her to the station house, where she was finally uncuffed and made to sit in the wrong chair in one of SVU’s interrogation rooms. She was met there by a strikingly good-looking woman with beautifully-streaked hair and a suit so lovely Frankie noticed it even in her current circumstances.

“Dr. Rojas? I’m Nikki Staines. I’m your attorney.” She put her hand protectively on Frankie’s shoulder and turned to Dodds and Benson. “Out. Both of you. And turn off the camera and the speakers.”

Dodds and Benson did as she asked. 

Frankie looked up at her attorney with huge eyes brimming with tears. “I didn’t kill him. He killed himself.”

“That’s what I hear,” Staines said, laying her briefcase on the table and sitting across from Frankie. “We’ll get to all of that. Right now, I want to know how you are. Are you hurt? Do you need anything?”

Frankie shook her head. “I’m OK. I’m… Is Barba…” 

“He knows where you are. But you’re not going to be able to see him for a while. He shouldn’t even have gotten involved enough to call me. I want coffee. You want some?”

“Yes, please,” Frankie answered in a small voice. 

Staines didn’t allow the SVU detectives or the ADA into the interrogation room for the next two hours. She took her time, learning all she could about her new client and what had happened. She gave no indication of this, of course, but she hoped the cops would find some helpful evidence. Dr. Rojas’s story was pretty flimsy. 

And yet, Nikki believed her completely. First and foremost, Nikki made it a point to believe all of her clients. But she had also been attacked herself recently, and had learned firsthand the twisted, fucked-up shit men could do to women in order to control them. Not only was she convinced that her client was telling the truth, and that Alan Canady got exactly what he deserved, but she was also pissed. That was good. Nikki Staines was more than a match for Peter Stone. Pissed off Nikki Staines was his worst nightmare.

“All right, Frankie, let me tell you what’s gonna happen.”

“In a minute, I’m going to let those bozos in here, and we’re going to tell them you’re not talking. You’re already under arrest, so I’m afraid that means you’re going to have to be arraigned, and that’s not going to happen until tomorrow.”

“I have to stay in jail? Overnight? In the Tombs?”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do about that. But you’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll ask some guard friends of mine to look out for you. And tomorrow, we’ll ask for bail.”

“I’ll get bail, won’t I? I won’t have to stay in jail?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes. You’ll get bail. It’ll probably be high, and you’ll have to surrender your passport-“

“I don’t care. Anything. Just get me out of jail!”

“OK, OK. I’ll do everything I can. And I’ll talk to Stone, see if I can get him to agree to something.”

“Will he?”

“I don’t know. He can be a hardass. But I’ll be my most charming.” 

Frankie appreciated Nikki’s warmth and whatever she was doing to try to convey confidence. Frankie was not confident. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. At the moment Alan had pushed the knife into his chest, all she could think of was saving the life of an injured man. She’d gone instantly into doctor mode. She realized now that was exactly what Alan had been counting on, and she’d fallen, so easily, so willingly, directly into his trap. She’d touched the knife. Hell, she’d _grabbed_ the knife. And she’d been found by the police, kneeling over his body, his blood dripping from her hands and soaked through all her clothes into her underwear. She could think of no single shred of physical evidence that supported her story or called into question the idea that she’d killed him.

She hadn’t killed Alan, but it looked very much as though he had killed her. New York didn’t have the death penalty, but if Alan had put her in prison for first-degree murder, he’d have taken her life just the same. It would just be a longer, more painful wait to die.

Frankie didn’t say a word as ADA Stone strode into the interrogation room, followed by Lieutenant Benson and Sergeant Dodds. Nikki explained that Frankie had said all she was going to, and wouldn’t be answering any questions. Stone looked unsurprised and grim.

“We’re charging her with Murder One. If we’re done here, we’ll get her booked into the Tombs and I’ll see you in Arraignment Court tomorrow,” he said without expression.

“Listen, Peter, she’s a colleague. She’s an FBI Agent, and she’s an NYPD Consultant. Not to mention that she works closely with your office. She didn’t kill your vic. He killed himself. How about we talk about bail?”

Stone scoffed slightly. “Ms. Staines, I hear you, but this woman is the definition of a flight risk. I can’t agree to bail.”

“You can. C’mon, Peter, at least think about it. Ask for all the bail you want. A million. Two million. She’ll surrender her passport-“

“That’s my point, exactly. She has access to unlimited funds, she’s bilingual and has all kinds of contacts in Mexico. No bail. I’m sorry, Nikki.”

Stone turned around and left the room. Frankie thought he might be the coldest, most terrifying man she’d ever seen. She was more afraid of him than she’d been of Alan. Alan, at least, had had emotions.

************

It took everything Rafael Barba had not to attend Francisca Rojas’s arraignment the next morning. He wanted more than anything to be able to support her with a look, a small smile, anything. But he couldn’t. First of all, he had already contacted defense counsel on her behalf which, if his office learned he’d done it, would get him a reprimand, at the very least. Second, he was a material witness. As much as he hated the idea, he was the only one who knew certain things about this case. He was already in a terrible position with Stone, who hadn’t been happy to learn that a fellow Senior ADA was sleeping with an expert witness who was now Stone’s murder suspect. Barba didn’t give a fuck about Stone, but he did care about his law license. In order not to jeopardize that, he had to be unstintingly, scrupulously honest with Stone about everything he knew about Francisca Rojas. And he had been. 

Stone now knew about the conversation Frankie and Rafael had where she’d asked him what the FBI and SVU would need to get a subpoena for Canady’s DNA. It was entirely possible that she’d gone to Canady’s hotel room to get the additional evidence Rafael had told her they would need. It had begun to look more probable with the discovery that the knife that had killed Alan Canady had come from the kitchen of Barba’s apartment. Where Rojas was staying.

Nikki Staines was eloquent, reasonable, and eminently logical as she argued that Frankie’s entire career had been spent in law enforcement, and that she had never had so much as a parking ticket. Frankie stood, shaking in the dress Nikki had chosen for her to wear to her arraignment, praying fervently never to have to set foot back in jail. It took Peter Stone about two minutes to crush that hope and get Frankie remanded to Riker’s Island to await trial. All Frankie could do was stand, mutely shaking, too stunned and terrified even to cry. 

Nikki comforted Frankie as best she could, but wasn’t entirely surprised by the judge’s decision.

*******************

Nikki could instruct Frankie not to answer questions, but she couldn’t stop Stone or the SVU detectives from asking them. She sat next to Frankie, who looked pale and sick and heartbreakingly scared, around a dented metal table bolted to the floor in one of the interrogation rooms at Riker’s. Frankie’s orange jumpsuit was about two sizes too big, which contributed to her look of lost confusion. 

“Dr. Rojas, the FBI agent in the lobby of Federal Plaza didn’t see you there on the day of the murder. Did you see him? Acknowledge him?” Stone asked.

Nikki nodded permission to answer. “I saw him,” Frankie said. “I didn’t acknowledge him.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think I was supposed to. He was supposed to be inconspicuous, so if Alan or the tweaker kid –“

“The tweaker kid – Juwon Jefferson?”

“Yeah. If they showed up, he’d see them but they wouldn’t see him.”

“Anybody else see you in the lobby? Did you speak to anyone?”

“No.” 

“You said you took the bus to the hotel in Chelsea. Did you use a MetroCard?”

“No, I just paid cash.”

“Talk to anyone on the bus?”

“No. It was a short ride.”

Nikki interrupted. “Where’s the bus video? Why don’t we have that yet?”

Stone sighed. “Camera on the bus was inoperative. Did you talk to anyone at the hotel?”

“No. I knew the room number, I just went up. I didn’t want Alan to hurt Barba, and I hoped I could talk to him.”

“About what?”

“About… everything! I hoped I could talk him into, I don’t know… leaving me alone. Leaving Barba alone…”

“What made you think you’d be successful this time, after…”

“Peter, that’s enough. You want facts that’ll lead to evidence showing my client didn’t kill the guy, fine. But we’re not interested in your opinion of her choices.” Nikki gave Stone a mildly reproving look.

“Did anyone see you after you went through the hotel lobby? Anyone see you on the stairs, or in the hallway, or in Canady’s room?”

“No. No one but Alan. And it happened exactly like I said.” 

Peter Stone had had a lot of pretty women look at him with those pleading eyes. He was immune to it. Besides which, he didn’t believe a word out of this one’s mouth. 

“And you have absolutely no proof of that, is that right? Nothing to show that the victim stabbed himself which, I have to tell you, is a pretty fantastic allegation.”

“OK,” Nikki said, scooting her chair out. “We’re done.”

“Frankie, please,” Dodds said, putting a hand on her arm. “We need your help. If there is anything, anything you can think of…”

“Find the tweaker kid,” she said, putting her hand on top of his. “Please, Mike. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth. Find the tweaker kid and make him tell you what he did. Maybe Alan told him what he was planning-“

“Sergeant, that’s enough,” Stone said icily, pushing his chair back under the metal table and signaling to the guard to unlock the bars. “We do not work for the suspect.”

Dodds shot him a look, but squeezed Frankie’s arm. “We’ll keep looking,” he said kindly.

As soon as Stone and the SVU detectives had gone, Frankie looked up at the guard, expecting to be led back to her cell. “Porter’s here, too,” Nikki said. “He wanted to see you alone. He’s on our side.”

A tear slid from Frankie’s eye. She sniffed, trying not to begin crying again. She felt so wrung out as it was, she didn’t think she had another crying jag in her. Her head pounded and she felt weak and rubbery. She had neither eaten nor slept since her arrest. 

Porter looked like a White Knight as he came down the barred wall of the interrogation room and into the room itself. He went to Frankie and hugged her until the guard cleared his throat and shook his head. “You know the rules, Agent Porter.”

Porter sat down across from Frankie and took her hands. “I’m so sorry, Frankie. This is all my fault. I should have been able to get Canady.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s Alan. This is all Alan. He planned this… I did exactly what he wanted me to do. He said he was taking me with him, and he has.”

“No. No. I do not accept that. And neither do you. Now, listen to me, Doctor. I am going to find the tweaker kid and I’m going to make this right. I will not rest until I do that. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you. Thanks, Dean. I don’t know if it’ll do any good, even if you do find him.”

“Keep the faith, you understand?”

“He’s right, Frankie,” Nikki said, putting a hand on her shoulder in a way Frankie really needed.

“I’ll try,” she said, in a small voice. Porter wanted to stab Canady himself for reducing his confident friend to this. 

Porter grinned lopsidedly. “Barba says hello.”

Frankie didn’t smile. Instead, she put her face in her hands. “Oh, I’ve screwed his life up so bad. Is he in trouble? Is he OK?”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. She knew Barba’s reputation, and hadn’t been surprised when Frankie told her she was another of his conquests. She couldn’t really blame Frankie. Nikki had been tempted herself; Barba was hot AF, but she made it a rule not to date opposing counsel. Still, there was something that sounded like real emotion in Frankie’s voice. Poor kid. She had enough trouble. Nikki hoped Barba wouldn’t break her heart on top of everything else.

“He’s fine, Frankie.” Porter answered. “He’s cooperating with Stone, but he’s been clear he knows you’re innocent. He’s just worried about you.”

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just worry about you, OK? Barba’s fine. And you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“OK,” she sighed.

“There’s one more thing. What’s this I hear about you refusing to let your family come?”

“NO.” Frankie said, more firmly than she’d said anything thus far. “I don’t want them to see me like this. I mean it. Please.”

“Frankie, you deserve their love and support.”

“Look, I don’t think I’m doing this to punish myself. I just… I can’t stand the idea of my family seeing me in this-“ she pulled at the baggy orange jumpsuit. “Here,” she weakly waved a hand at their surroundings.

“I had a feeling you’d stick to that,” he said. “But they’re persistent. I see where you get your stubbornness.” 

Frankie’s mouth twitched.

“So I made a deal.”

She scowled at him.

“Rafe is coming. Only Rafe. He’s on a plane right now. That was the best deal I could make for both sides, and it’s happening, so deal with it.”

Frankie slumped in her chair and nodded in defeat. It would be good to see her oldest brother. She thought she could handle the humiliation of Rafe seeing her in prison, accused of murder, as long as her father didn’t. She was grateful her mother wasn’t alive to see this.

***************

Barba laid in bed, hands behind his head, staring at the windows in the building across the street. He was sick to his stomach over what had happened to Francisca. He would never call a woman with a name that beautiful “Frankie.” He wasn’t sure it was accurate to say that he missed her, after three nights together, but that’s what it felt like. He could smell her on his pillows. He could hear her voice laughing at him. What the hell had happened to his life? One minute, he was getting a new colleague he couldn’t stand, the next he was basically dragging her into his home, and into his bed. It had taken him no time at all to become thoroughly preoccupied with her. It wasn’t love. Of course it wasn’t. But it was… a sensation he hadn’t had in a very long time. 

And now this. This woman he had met a month before, and barely knew, was in prison for stabbing her ex-boyfriend in the heart with a knife. _His_ knife. He wished with all his heart he’d never met her. Well, that was a lie. He wished with about half his heart he’d never met her. With the other half, he wished she was here with him now, safe and warm in his arms. He knew that was nothing but hormones, of course. Wasn’t it? Then why couldn’t he get her voice out of his head, and why did it bother him so damn much that right this moment, she was probably terrified and crying, and lonelier than he was?


	6. A Little Too Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A formerly reluctant witness is conveniently found and suddenly cooperative. Peter Stone smells a rat, but has to drop the charges against OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas. Rafael Barba is more than happy to welcome her back to his apartment.

Amanda Rollins noticed Rafe Rojas the second he walked into the squad room. Only a man who lived in jeans could make them fit like that. And the squint lines around his dark eyes did something to her down low. He was the lean, cowboy type – well, he was a _literal_ cowboy – she absolutely could not resist. His hat was well-worn and didn’t disguise the shagginess of his thick, dark hair. She didn’t mean to come on to him. She liked Frankie, and Frankie was in deep shit. But her older brother was basically sex in cowboy boots. So Amanda got real Southern, real fast, the minute she stepped up to Rafe to introduce herself. Sure, Porter was standing next to him and could have made the introductions. But Amanda’s ovaries were in charge. Or some part of her female anatomy, anyway. 

“We’re on our way out to Riker’s,” Porter explained. “We just stopped by to give you guys a chance to ask any questions you may have thought of.”

“Nikki OK with that?”

“Nikki might not be aware of it,” Porter muttered. “And your lives might be easier if you didn’t mention this visit to Stone, either. Unless something good comes out of it. But I trust you guys. I know you’re on Frankie’s side. ” 

Dodds introduced himself to Rafe, who was a few inches shorter and a few shades darker. Rafe’s voice was deep and Amanda thought she detected just the slightest twang, like a delicate spice that gave a tasty dish just the right, subtle kick. 

For several minutes, the group discussed anything in Frankie’s past that might be either helpful or hurtful, but there was nothing. She was who she was. She had no skeletons, no previous arrests (knife-related or otherwise), and no history of any kind of violence, unless having a hair-trigger temper and a sharp tongue counted. Rafe couldn’t help the case, except to reassure them that there were no surprises in his sister’s past waiting to trip her up. 

Porter and Rafe left shortly thereafter. Amanda could feel her thighs quiver when Rafe touched his hat to her and said, “Miss,” as he left. Amanda was positive he gave her a subtle wink along with his nod. She stood just a little too long watching the hallway after they’d turned the corner toward the elevators. 

*********************

Porter ran interference with the guard at Riker’s who tried to keep Rafe from hugging his little sister. He felt responsible for his friend being in prison for a crime she didn’t commit, and he wasn’t about to deny her the small comfort of a hug from her brother. 

“You all right, Snot-rocket?” Rafe asked, sitting down next to Frankie. 

“Y-yeah,” Frankie stuttered, trying desperately not to cry. 

Rafe pulled her head to his shoulder, and Porter signaled to the guard to let them be. 

“Everybody sends their love. They’re pissed at you for tellin’ ‘em not to come, but they get it.”

“I can’t-“

“They know. They treatin’ you OK in here?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. My lawyer knows some of the guards, and she has some clients in here, so…”

“Can’t say I’m too impressed with a lawyer whose clients are in prison.”

Frankie gave the tiniest laugh, then sniffled. “She’s good. She’ll get me out of here.”

“Yeah, she will. And if she don’t, me n’ the guys’ll stage a jailbreak. Always wanted to do that.” 

“Don’t even joke about that in here,” Frankie told him.

“Ain’t jokin’. So listen, Porter only got us five minutes, so I don’t wanna waste it. Just… you need anything? You need me to do anything?”

“No, there’s nothing. Dean gave you the keys to my apartment?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it for you until you get home. You just hang in, all right? Porter’s gonna find that kid. I met your team at SVU, and they seem like they got their shit together. We got you, OK?”

“OK.”

“By the way, I’m gonna marry that Amanda.”

“She’s way too good for a snot-rocket like you. But you go ahead and try.” 

********************

Things started to get strange about eight O’Clock the next morning. Peter Stone got a call in his office. Based on an anonymous tip, Detectives Carisi and Tutuola had picked up Juwon Jefferson and had him in custody. And he was talking. 

He was a different kid than Stone had seen on the tapes of his first interrogation. For one thing, he was a mass of bruises and cuts. For another, he was giving them real information. The attitude was still on full display, and he was definitely not happy to be there. But at least they had him, and for whatever reason, he was ready to tell them everything he knew about Alan Canady. In part, Stone believed his story that Canady had been a truly evil son of a bitch, and now that he was dead, Juwon could safely say so. But there was no way that was the whole story. 

“Yeah, man, I tol’ the Doc to go see the motherfucker, gave her the message he was gonna barbecue her boyfriend if she didn’t show up. Ain’t nothin’ illegal ‘bout that. I just delivered a message.”

“Did he pay you?” Stone asked.

“Yeah, man, you think I play messenger boy for my health?” 

“Why did he want to see Dr. Rojas?”

“He said he was gonna fuck her up. Said he was gonna do hisself, make it look like she done it. Guess that’s pretty much what he done, ain’t it? That’s bad-ass, man. Stabbin’ yo’self. That’s cold.”

Stone rolled his eyes. This was all way too convenient. Out of the blue, they get an anonymous tip and this kid who hadn’t cooperated at all is suddenly telling them the exact same wildly implausible story the suspect told? And he just happened to be covered with injuries? No. Somebody got to this kid, and he was either getting something huge out of this, or they had something big over him. Either way, Stone wasn’t about to let Rojas walk on the word of this little tweaker alone.

“Why should I believe you?” Stone asked, looking hard at the kid.

“I don’t give a shit if you believe me. It’s that rich bitch doctor sittin’ in Rikers, not me.”

The kid had talked quite a bit about Alan Canady’s rapes of the three women. That, at least, they could prove. The kid’s evidence gave them probable cause to test Canady’s DNA against the rape kits, which was being done right that moment. Stone thought blackly that it wasn’t like it was hard to collect Canady’s DNA - it was pooled all over the floor in that cheap motel room. But that still didn’t prove who had killed Canady, and it didn’t answer why this kid was suddenly in custody and talking. Stone was suspicious of anything this neat and easy.

****************

Later that day, Stone stopped by Barba’s office. Barba was sitting at his desk, tapping a pen and staring off into space. 

“Thinking deep legal thoughts?” Stone grinned.

“Shallow ones, anyway. What can I do for you?”

“I wanna talk about this Rojas case.”

Barba frowned. “You can’t talk to me about that case.”

“Not about the case itself, just… Hypothetically, what would you say if you had a case with a very hard to find, reluctant, unreliable witness, who suddenly gets found by an ‘anonymous source’ and starts singing like a canary?” Stone made himself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of Barba’s desk.

“I’d smell a rat. Especially if this suddenly cooperative witness is a junkie.”

“He is. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically. Look, I’m in an impossible spot here. You know that. I know Francisca Rojas didn’t kill Alan Canady.”

“You don’t know that, and neither does anyone else except Canady. And he’s not talking.”

“I have instincts, same as you. And I know this woman.”

“You’ve known this woman for a whole month. And you’re fucking her. Tends to mess with the instincts, Barba.”

Rafael shot Stone an irritated look and gave a snort of annoyance. “What, exactly, do you want from me here? There’s no way she did it. I know that. But if you’re asking me whether you can believe this tweaker’s sudden conversion to the light, I’d say no. So you get all the information you can out of him, and you check it all out, and you prove she didn’t do it with _that_ evidence.”

“What the hell’s happened to everyone around here? Since when are we in the business of proving someone _didn’t_ do a crime?” Stone snapped.

“Since always. We prove the truth, not just what we _want_ to be true. That’s why I’m saying don’t buy the tweaker’s story. I’d like Franci- Dr. Rojas out of Riker’s today. But you have a job to do, and that means you need to be right.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Stone smirked, getting up. 

“That’s what I’m here for. Get her out. Soon. But do it the right way.”

Rafael was troubled. The tweaker was back and now he was talking? What had she done? Or what had been done on her behalf? 

**********

The DNA matched. Alan Canady was the Pattern 20 rapist. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove who had killed him. Nothing did. The autopsy was consistent with either Canady stabbing himself or someone else stabbing him; it was inconclusive either way. And both his fingerprints and Frankie Rojas’s were on the knife. True, Canady had no defensive wounds, but she could simply have gotten a lucky shot before he realized what was happening. Because Barba’s building had no security cameras, there was no way to prove that Canady or Jefferson had somehow gotten in and stolen the knife. From an evidence standpoint, that meant it was equally likely that either Frankie had killed Canady, or he had done it himself. 

In the end, the Manhattan DA’s office had no choice but to drop the charges against Frankie Rojas. With the tweaker kid’s testimony, there was simply too much reasonable doubt for Nikki Staines to work with. Nikki had actually been in the office the day the decision was made, raising holy hell and making Peter Stone’s life miserable. Stone wasn’t happy about any of it – he felt like they had been played by someone who had gotten to the tweaker kid, but he couldn’t prove it, and he had other cases he could prove. So they dropped the charges and Nikki blew up the phones at Riker’s as she drove out to collect her client, making sure they would have her processed out and ready when Nikki arrived. 

She called Dean Porter from her car. “You heard?”

“Yeah. Can I go pick her up?”

“I’m on my way now. But listen. I’m never gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, but Stone thinks he got played, and I can’t blame him. Is there anything I should know about that Jefferson kid? It does seem like he had a pretty sudden, and violent, change of heart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t. I just want to know I’m not gonna get any surprises, and my client isn’t either.”

“You won’t. I swear to you, Nikki, it’s all above board. The kid was telling the truth.”

“Yeah, but _why_ was he telling the truth?”

“You know what? Take the win. It’s all good.”

“It better be. You got a lot to lose these days.”

“Yeah, life is good. And I wouldn’t jeopardize that. We didn’t do anything to the tweaker kid that’s gonna hurt us. Or you. Or Frankie.”

“You didn’t, huh? Then who’s ‘we’?”

“Did I say ‘we’? I meant ‘I’. Hey, Nikki, my other line is ringing. I gotta answer that. Nice working with you.”

***************

Frankie was pretty sure she was being set up. She didn’t really like it, given what she’d just been through, but it was hard to find a basis to complain. Her brother and Amanda had become very… close, and were both claiming that, since he was planning to fly back to Austin in the morning, it was their last opportunity to spend time together. So, as badly as they felt about it – _yeah, sure_, she thought – they wondered whether Frankie would mind spending one more night at Barba’s. Besides which, all her things were at Barba’s. And they claimed already to have set it up with him. 

Frankie dimly felt that it was bizarre for people who loved her to be worrying about romance, their own or hers, after she had just been in prison for murder. But she was exhausted. She’d barely eaten or slept in the five days since her arrest, and she’d been in an emotional spin-cycle the entire time. The truth was, she wanted two things. She wanted to take a shower for about a week, followed by a soak in a bathtub for a month. And she wanted Barba. 

She hadn’t spoken to him since her arrest. He’d retained Nikki for her, and she’d had messages from him through Porter, but that had been all he could do. Now that she was about to see him again, she was in a turmoil of different emotions. She felt physically hideous and soiled, and she felt emotionally battered and horribly ashamed. She thought she was far too needy to be going to stay with a man she knew as little as she knew Barba. But, apparently, she was the only one who felt that way, because he was waiting for her when Nikki pulled up at the curb in front of his building.

He looked absolutely delectable to her. Gorgeous and kind and caring and opening his arms to her before she was all the way out of the car, even though all she had to wear home was the terrible sweats they’d given her at the M.E.’s office when they’d taken her bloody clothes. Nikki smiled broadly at Rafael as he moved to push the car door closed, cradling Frankie in his arms. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

“My pleasure,” she replied, waving. She liked the idea of Barba owing her one.

Rafael gently guided Frankie through the door to the lobby, and held her while they waited for the elevator. 

“Thank you for letting me stay with you,” she mumbled into his shirt. She hadn’t looked at him, really, as she’d climbed out of Nikki’s car, just put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. 

“I would have come to your place, if you hadn’t come here. Even with your brother there. I want to help. I’ve felt so fucking useless these past days…”

She squeezed him, hard. “You called Nikki. You shouldn’t even have done that. That was everything.”

“I know you didn’t kill him, Francisca.”

“No, you don’t. No one does, except me and him. But I didn’t. I swear it.”

“Still arguing with me…” he said with a grin, as he led her into the elevator, still with her arms clasped to him and her face buried. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was wonderful to have her in his arms again, to be able to comfort her as he’d been aching to for days. But the way she was clinging to him spoke of a depth of fear and anguish that he’d only guessed at. He was intensely grateful she had come to him so that he could help her through it. He was honored that his _fresa_, usually so dauntless and fiery, and now so crushed and wounded, would allow herself to be this vulnerable with him. He vaguely realized that he would do anything for this woman in his arms, but he paid little attention to the thought, as he thought about what he _could_ do to help her begin to recover from her ordeal.

She released him from her arms when he closed the door behind them, but stayed right next to him.

“I’m guessing you’d like the longest, hottest shower in the history of the world,” he suggested. 

“I’d give my left arm for that,” she sighed softly.

“No charge for guests. You go get in the shower, and I’ll bring you a drink.”

“Do you happen to have any scotch?”

Rafael couldn’t help but laugh at that. Everyone knew about Rafael Barba and scotch. He was a little amused by this evidence that they really hadn’t known each other that long. “I have scotch.”

When he had poured a scotch for each of them, he hesitated outside the door to his bathroom for a moment. He could hear the water running, and see billows of steam floating lazily into the bedroom. But he was suddenly unsure what she was expecting. Did she want privacy? Should he wait for her to come out? Well, he’d told her he was going to bring her a drink. Besides, he realized, the steam was escaping into the bedroom because she had left the door ajar. He knocked tentatively and pushed the door open a little.

“Francisca? I brought your drink.” 

She didn’t respond. He noticed the sweatshirt and pants she’d been wearing wadded up on the floor.

“What do you want me to do with these sweats?”

It took her a second to answer. “Bonfire,” she finally said in a choked voice. 

He was sure he heard a sob. He didn’t hesitate, but stepped into the room, set his drink on the counter, and pulled the shower curtain back just enough to see her. Her hands were splayed on the tile wall and she was leaning on both arms, head hanging, crying hard and trying to be silent about it.

“Oh, _mi fresa_,” he said, pulling the curtain back and stepping, fully clothed, into the shower to take her into his arms. She instantly let out a groan of agony, turning into him and clinging to him as she sobbed into his shoulder. He held her drink just outside the spray of the shower. 

For long minutes, he just held her and let her cry, while the hot water cascaded down and soothed her. He didn’t realize he had begun to hum softly to her until she turned her face into his neck, muttering, “That’s nice.”

When she seemed to be done crying, he moved them a bit to the side and held the glass to her. “Here, drink this,” he said softly, not letting go of her. She downed its contents in one gulp and handed it back to him. He smiled. 

When he felt her arms loosen around him, he reached behind her and set the glass down on the shower’s built-in tile shelf. He took a bottle of shampoo and poured a little into his hand. Moving her just a bit backward out of the spray, he began to shampoo her hair. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, the slightest smile touching her lips. When he was done, he moved her under the spray to rinse her hair and began to soap her body. He tried not to make it sexual, given the situation and the fact that he was still wearing all of his now-soaked clothes. But it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she moved into his hands from time to time. He conditioned her hair when he’d finished washing her, and moved her once again under the spray to rinse out the conditioner. 

“MMmmmmmm,” she said. “This feels so nice.”

“That’s the point,” he said, leaning down without thinking and kissing her. 

He was just preparing to be concerned about pushing her when she reached to put a hand behind his head and wind her fingers in his wet hair, pulling his mouth harder on hers. After thoroughly kissing him, she looked into his eyes for the first time since she’d arrived. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I mean that in a number of different ways. I like having you here, and I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she said. “Can we take a bath?”

“Of course we can.”

“And… will you please take your clothes off? I don’t care what you do when you’re alone, but I refuse to take a bath with a clothed man.”

Rafael put his forehead to Frankie’s. “No, I won’t take them off. But you’re welcome to, if you want.”

“Oh, you’re a pain in the ass, Barba.” She kissed him again and began undressing him. 

When she had his clothes off, he quickly washed his hair and turned the dial that turned off the shower and began to fill the tub. Pulling back the curtain, he picked up the pile of wet clothes and wrung them out as best he could, then tossed them across the bathroom into the sink to be dealt with later. 

“You get comfortable.” He said. “I’ll be right back.”

Rafael quickly padded out to his kitchen and retrieved the bottle of scotch, bringing it to the bathroom and setting it down next to the tub where Frankie was pouring some shampoo under the water to make bubbles. He took his glass from the counter, lifted hers from the shelf in the shower, and put them on the edge of the bathtub, then stepped into the water. She moved to let him get seated behind her, then scooted between his legs and relaxed against his chest. 

He poured some scotch into her glass and handed it to her, then picked up his own. He wrapped one arm around her and she held his arm with hers. They sat in the rapidly-filling tub and sipped in silence. 

When the tub was full, Frankie used her foot to turn off the water and turned herself so that she was lying on her side, her cheek on his chest, and could put both arms around him.

“I love you,” she murmured, eyes closed and smiling. 

Rafael kissed the top of her head, wondering whether she could possibly have meant what she’d just said. She lay quietly, seemingly perfectly satisfied with no response other than a kiss. She’d had two drinks – he had only poured a couple of fingers each time, but he had no idea when the last time she’d slept or eaten was, and for all he knew, she was asleep right this second. Maybe she didn’t even know she’d said it. He decided that’s what it was. His chest felt warm anyway, and it wasn’t just because of the scotch. 

He thought he dozed a little, lying there holding her in the hot, bubbly water. He was gently nudged back into consciousness when she shifted between his legs and mumbled, “It’s getting cold.”

“You want to put in some more hot water?”

“Mmmmmm, I want to be in bed. I don’t want to get out of this tub and move to the bed. I just want to be in bed without that part.”

“I’d like to do that for you, _mi fresa_, but I don’t think I possess that particular skill.”

She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. “OK, we’ll do it the hard way.”

They helped each other to stand and climb out of the tub, and Rafael wrapped Frankie in a deliciously large, fluffy towel. She was too sleepy to comment, but she made a mental note to compliment him on his taste in towels – and scotch – in the morning. Neither bothered much with their hair – Rafael just toweled his off and Frankie twisted hers into a quick bun on top of her head. They quickly brushed their teeth, leaning on one another, and were cuddled together in bed very soon thereafter, arms around one another and her head cradled on his shoulder. 

In the soft light coming through the window, Frankie looked up at Rafael. She lifted her lips to kiss his jaw and he turned his head to take her lips between his. He was a bit surprised when she subtly shifted her body and opened her mouth to his, sliding her hand down his side to his hip and thigh, angling her caress until she was softly cupping him in her hand. 

“Barba?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Will you please make love to me?”

“Anything for you.”

He followed her lead, going slowly and touching her softly, never taking his mouth from hers, even when whispering endearments and praise. Her soft moan as she came with him inside her was pure enchantment, and he was almost positive it contained a whispered, “I love you.”


	7. Playing By The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba wishes OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas would continue to stay with him at his apartment, but she needs to get home and reclaim her life after being wrongly accused of murder. Barba is honest about the fact that he has his doubts about the way the charges were dropped. He doesn't care - all's well that ends well - but she is furious that he thinks she would do something like that. After she has been back for two months, much has returned to normal, but not their relationship. She loves him, but it's clear to her that she was just another fling for him. Barba decides that, however she may have felt about him before, she doesn't anymore, and she is never going to forgive him for not living up to her naive standards. It's time to give up.

Rafael Barba made the best _huevos rancheros_ in the world. The solar system, even. He was fully aware of that and unafraid to acknowledge it to anyone who would listen. Frankie mocked his conceit about it, but her biting sarcasm was belied by the fact that she was on her third helping.

Beneath the playful ribbing, Rafael’s eyes kept sliding to the stack of luggage next to his door. She had packed her things as he’d made breakfast, despite his repeated assurances that he was just as happy for her to stay. He didn’t say he wanted her to stay, preferred her to stay, although they both knew that was what he’d meant. 

But Frankie needed to go home to her apartment. Rafe’s plane had left at an ungodly hour that morning, and Amanda had taken him to Kennedy, so she didn’t need to rush in order to see her brother off, but she needed as much normalcy as she could find. Alan was dead, and that was a good thing, however it had happened, and she could now resume her normal life without fear. But it wasn’t that easy and, as a psychiatrist, she knew that. 

And then there was Barba. Frankie needed a lot of things right now, and space was at the top of the list. She was in love with Barba. She’d told him that. Twice. And she knew it was true. But she also knew that she was a mess. Having just come through a traumatic experience that had threatened every aspect of her life, and been welcomed into the arms of a man who was everything she had ever wanted, she knew as a psychiatrist that what she felt could very easily have been deep gratitude and a need for security being mistaken for love. She needed to do the adult thing and reclaim her life. When she had her feet back under her, solid and balanced, that would be the time to see how things stood with Barba.

The other benefit of that strategy was that it would give Barba space and time, too. Frankie had fallen for him completely. And he was being as supportive as she could ever hope for at this moment. But that didn’t mean he felt anything for her. It could easily just mean he was a good man who liked women. She remembered what Amanda had said. He dated, but he didn’t get involved. If she wanted him to feel what she felt – and holy shit did she want that - she needed to give him time to get there.

“I ordered a lot of groceries when I knew you were coming here, but maybe I should have ordered more.”

“I do not apologize for my appetite. Besides, I haven’t really eaten in days.”

“I can make more toast.”

“No, thank you. More coffee would be good, though.” 

Rafael stood touching her as much as possible as he filled her mug with his excellent coffee. When he was done pouring, he kissed her cheek before stepping away to replace the pot in the machine. 

“Francisca…”

“You can call me Frankie, you know. You’ve seen me naked.”

“Your name is beautiful. I’m not about to desecrate it with that preposterous nickname.”

As she looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes sparkled with the smile he couldn’t see. It actually gave her a little thrill every time he said her name. Not only did he pronounce it beautifully, but the slight roll on the “r” made her think about his tongue. Every time. She even liked it when he called her _“fresa”_, although she would take that secret to her grave. 

“When are you planning to return to work?” He asked, returning to the subject he’d been about to raise.

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow. I want my life back.”

“I can understand that. We’ll be glad to have you back. This whole thing… I don’t care what you had to do, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“What does that mean, ‘what I had to do’?”

He blinked. Why had he said that to her? It didn’t matter. That was the decision he’d made; he would never let it matter.

“I don’t mean anything. Just that I’m glad it’s over.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Barba. What did you mean by that?” 

“I misspoke, that’s all. Let it go.”

Frankie set down her coffee cup on his kitchen table. “Barba, this is important. You’re… We’re… If you have questions, or misgivings, you need to ask. Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

Frankie ran a hand through her hair, looking around the room as if for help. “Look, I mean… We started out badly, and then things got intense fast, and… I know you see a lot of women, and why wouldn’t you, you’re…”

“_Rico_?” His mocking expression was a little forced.

“And if that’s what this is… was… then fine. But I feel, um… Well, that’s just it. I feel. For you. And I don’t need you to return that, I’m a grown-up, but if you wanted us to see each other, then you should know that. And I would need to know that you didn’t think I’m a murderer or… whatever it was you were just suggesting.”

Rafael didn’t respond for a moment. Which of those things was he supposed to deal with first? He turned and refilled his own coffee cup to give himself some time to gather his thoughts. “You really know how to pack a lot into a few nearly incoherent sentences.”

She stood and began to clear the dishes from the table. “You don’t have to respond. I need to get going, anyway. Sorry if I dumped a lot on you. I think too much about things. Occupational hazard.”

“Stop it. Don’t do that.” He turned to her, leaning against his counter. “I assume you were speaking your mind. Now let me speak mine.”

She turned from the sink and unconsciously mirrored his position, leaning against the counter a few feet from him.

“You said I date a lot of women. I don’t know what ‘a lot’ means, but I don’t suppose it matters. That’s apparently something someone thought you should know, and there’s not much I can say about it. It is what it is. But I really don’t like you making yourself a notch on my bedpost. That’s not what happened.”

“I apologize.”

“So do I, if that’s how I made you feel.”

“It isn’t. Of course it isn’t.”

“Then there’s this whole idea that I think you killed Canady. I don’t know how many ways to tell you that is not what I think.”

“But you think I did something to get the charges dropped.”

“I think…” He frowned. “We’re being honest with each other here. I don’t know what I think. It happened pretty fast, Francisca. Out of nowhere, there’s this ‘anonymous tip’ about a guy who wouldn’t give us the time of day before, and suddenly he’s spinning the exact same story you are…”

“Spinning? _Story_?” 

“Here we go…”

“Words are critically important, Barba. You say a lot simply with your word choices.”

“Don’t try this at home, folks, she _is_ a psychiatrist…” He muttered unhappily into his mug.

“You say you don’t think I’m a murderer. But I’m ‘_spinning a story_’ about what really happened, and apparently I somehow got to Jefferson from Riker’s so he would _‘spin’_ the same _‘story’_.”

“Francisca, I don’t _care_. _That’s_ my point. You can parse my language any way you want, but you can’t tell me what I believe. I know you didn’t kill Canady. And I don’t give a flying fuck why some tweaker backed you up when there was no evidence we could use to help you…”

“FUCK! You think I did it!”

“For the ten billionth time, I do _not_ think you did it.”

“You think I got to Jefferson.”

“I think… something happened. And Francisca, I do.not.care.”

“_I_ care! Don’t you get that? _I_ care! He told the truth! What he said, that’s exactly what happened. And if you don’t believe that, if you think he _‘spun a story’_ to help me, then you think I’m no better than he is.”

“I really need you to stop telling me what I think.” 

They stood, side by side leaning against Barba’s kitchen counter, heads turned so that they were scowling at one another. 

“And I need to live with myself. I did not do what you think I did. Whatever that is.” She kept a tight rein on herself as she spoke quietly and pushed up from the counter. “I’m just gonna hail a cab outside.”

“Francisca, don’t leave like this. You’ve been through enough.”

She didn’t respond as she pulled on a short, fitted leather jacket over her soft grey tank top. When she’d collected her luggage, she turned to him as she stood just inside the open door. 

“Thanks, Barba. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, more than I can say.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“Neither am I.”

“I know that. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“And that’s the problem. I’m one of the good guys, Barba. I can’t feel the way I feel about you and have you doubt that. Even if you don’t care.”

“What does that even _mean_?!” He shouted.

“It means I hear you. You know I didn’t kill Alan but you think I did something to get the charges dropped, and you don’t care about that because all’s well that ends well.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“For you, that doesn’t make me a monster. For me, it does.”

“You’re young, Francisca.”

“OK, that’s my cue. When your argument starts being my age, we’ve said everything there is to say.”

For the rest of the afternoon, both Barba and Frankie muttered to themselves all the things they wished they’d said.

*****************

“Amanda, stop! I cannot hear that stuff.”

“I wasn’t telling you sex stuff! I couldn’t, could I, when I’ve been back from Austin for a month? It’s just that Rafe’s amazing, and we had the best time together, and why didn’t you tell me he was such a studmuffin?”

“Ugh. Stop.”

“Well, _he_ likes _you_.”

“I like him, too. We’re close. Just… tell someone else. Tell Carisi.”

“Carisi doesn’t want to hear about how hot your brother is.”

“Carisi is right.”

“OK, well, Barba’s here, so you get a reprieve for now. But seriously, Frankie, he is just…”

“Briefing time.”

Around the table, the team provided the information they had about their latest case, making sure everyone had all the data they would need during the questioning to come. Frankie’s role would be a passive one; she didn’t need to take part in the interview unless something unexpected happened. What they needed was her read on the suspect. 

It was awkward standing next to Barba in his sublime suit, even though the past two months had been surprisingly normal. Rafael and Frankie had even found their way into several arguments. It was awkward because he’d hung his jacket over the back of his chair at the conference table and rolled up his sleeves. His hands and forearms were beautiful and kept drawing Frankie’s attention. Not only that, he kept making astute observations and asking piercing questions that were helping Frankie to zero in on this suspect’s psyche. They were a good team. 

During the past months, blessedly full of routine and ordinariness, Frankie had recovered her sense of herself. It had been healing to be in her own apartment, waking up and going to work in her own office, in charge and control of her life. She didn’t see any reason to replace her burned-out car; she liked the freedom of not having to deal with it. Her colleagues at the FBI and in SVU had been wonderfully supportive. She hadn’t had the opportunity to see Porter since she’d been released from prison, which was a little odd given what they’d been through with Canady, but he’d called. Olivia assured her she’d see him soon. 

The problem was that, the more she recovered and settled permanently into her New York life, the more head space she had for Barba. Her feelings for him were not lessening with time. Worse, they had both been terribly adult about the whole thing, which told her that she was going to need to get over it. She was the only one who had been foolish enough to fall in love in such an irrationally short time. She didn’t blame herself – trauma could do that to a person, she’d seen it a million times on the job. She just needed to shake it off. But it made her very sad, and the more she grew into her role at SVU, the worse it got. Barba was so very attractive, so brilliant, so damn great at his job, she would really have liked to build something with him. It was not going to happen. He was a serial dater, and she’d just been the latest woman on his agenda. He’d made her feel attractive and special, and had been exactly what she’d needed when she needed him. But that was apparently just the reason he was so attractive to so many women. He didn’t feel what she did.

“How old is this guy?” She asked Barba as they stood, a discreet distance apart, watching the interrogation.

“Sixty-eight.”

“Yeah. That fits.”

“What are you thinking?”

“He’s not faking this.”

“You’re saying the entire building and everything in it really _has_ been replaced by exact duplicates?”

Rafael’s heart skipped a beat when she gave him the familiar scornful side-eye he sometimes said things specifically to elicit. Like now.

“I’m saying that idea is a real symptom of a real problem. It’s called ‘reduplicative amnesia’ and there’s an easy way to find out.” She knocked quietly on the door and walked into the box. 

“Mr. Wilson, I’m Dr. Rojas. I apologize for the interruption, but I wonder if I might ask a couple of questions. It will only take a moment.” 

Rafael watched as she asked a number of questions about where the suspect believed himself to be, and was surprised when he informed her that this building was in Detroit. It was an exact replica of an actual police station in New York, but this wasn’t the original. It was a fake copy, designed to trick him. He could see “Aha!” written all over her. 

Barba appreciated the chance to simply watch her for a while. He was fascinated by the way she made her simple shirtdress seem so elegant, and the way the different sections of her braid shone with slightly varied colors in the overhead lights. He found her dazzling. And watching her use her talent and insight was fascinating no matter how many times he saw it. He even enjoyed the hell out of their verbal sparring. But he was at an absolute loss as to what to do with his feelings for her, and it was starting to be a problem.

Rafael didn’t understand what had happened. He’d thought that Frankie had asked him to be honest about what he thought of the information Juwon Jefferson had given them. He had been, but apparently that wasn’t what she really wanted. What she wanted Barba to do was tell her that he believed everything Juwon Jefferson had said. She wanted him to lie.

Rafael might have been right about her in the first place. Francisca Rojas might be a woman who required the people in her life to believe she was perfect, or at least to tell her that she was. He couldn’t do that. He’d told her what he believed. He’d even told her that he didn’t care if she or someone else had done something that might not be entirely admirable, since it had kept her from going to prison for a crime she didn’t commit. That was the best he could do. But, apparently, that wasn’t good enough. And, worse, what passed for “love” in her mind was far short of what he was looking for. She’d said she loved him the night she came home from Riker’s, and although she hadn’t repeated it the next morning, she had at least confirmed that she had feelings for him. Yet since the moment he’d blundered into suggesting that someone might have influenced Juwon Jefferson to give a statement corroborating hers, it was as though she’d turned it off. Rafael needed a woman whose love was indestructible. Francisca Rojas’s was apparently about as durable as smoke. 

“He needs a CT, and probably an MRI, as well,” Frankie was saying to Olivia, who had been in the interrogation but was now leaving with her and Fin, apparently having abandoned it. “There are several things that can cause this: tumors, dementia, brain injury, other psychiatric disorders… He needs a workup. Because we need to know his mental state before we can go one step further.”

“Wait, wait, wait…” Barba cried, stopping them as they passed him on their way to Olivia’s office. “What’s going on?”

“Wilson may not be competent to stand trial,” Frankie said.

“Bullshit. So he thinks he’s in Detroit. He still knows rape is wrong, and he still tried to avoid being arrested. Voila! Competent.”

“Oh, brother. Get over yourself, Barba. Nobody’s _that_ good. Any expert psychiatrist as sane as Wilson is could make hay out of this. We need a workup.”

“Not today, we don’t. I’m charging him. If it gets to the point where there’s a need for a workup-“

_“Ni siquiera te importa si él es_ [1]–“

_“Esto no se trata de_ [2]-“

“Ding! Ding!” Olivia called. “Fighters to your corners. There’s no one in your room right now. Let me know who wins.”

Rafael and Frankie expressed their displeasure, but both trudged into the least-used interrogation room at SVU, which had begun to be affectionately known as “their room”, because it had become routine for them to have heated disagreements that apparently could only be solved through half an hour of high-volume Spanish discourse. 

“Explain to me why you don’t want to know the truth here?”

“Explain to me why I need to explain anything to you?”

“I’m not here to be decorative, Barba. This guy’s got a pathology going on, and it could mean he’s not legally responsible for what he did. How is it that doesn’t matter to you?”

“Because even _he_ thinks he’s legally responsible. He ran away, remember?”

“Even you don’t believe what you’re saying.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaand, we’re back to you telling me what I believe.”

Frankie was taken aback for a second. Was he still talking about the case? “I don’t think you really want to just stick your head in the sand on this. Do you?”

“You call it sticking my head in the sand. I call it looking at the world the way it really is. You oughtta try it sometime. It’s very refreshing.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He was talking about them. She was sure of it now.

Rafael sighed. “Nothing. It means… Francisca, not everything is black and white. This job, you gotta get a little more comfortable with gray.”

“Well, thank you for the career advice, but in this particular situation, there’s a fairly simple way to determine whether this man has organic brain damage that might-“

“So what if he does? He still raped a woman and beat her bloody. He still deserves the punishment for that. I really don’t give fuck one if ‘the tumor made him do it’. He’s still guilty, and he should still pay the price.”

“Even if that means breaking a whole shitload of rules.”

“Sometimes, to make things come out right, you have to break the rules. You can do that and still be one of the good guys. And that, _mi fresa_, is a lesson you have yet to learn.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Then stop acting like one. The world is an imperfect place. The sooner you get comfortable with that, the better off we’ll all be. I’m instructing Liv to charge him.” Rafael turned his back on Frankie and strode from the room. Although he’d won this argument, he’d lost what mattered. 

Olivia Benson constantly accused Barba of having too much respect for the rules, of being too bound by them. In that moment, he realized that he had lost Francisca, a woman he could have loved, because she didn’t think he respected rules enough. It was the ugliest kind of irony. And it was enough. Time for Barba to stop living like a monk waiting for a woman who was never coming back.

**************

One of Frankie’s favorite things to do had become Friday night drinks with Sonny, Amanda, and Fin. They were so much fun, had so many great stories, and she really enjoyed the chemistry between them. On rare occasions, they were joined by Olivia and Porter, but when the two of them had a night off together, they were much more likely to want to spend it alone together, or just the two of them with Noah. Tonight was an “alone together” night while Noah stayed with a friend, which received its fair share of jokes in questionable taste around the table at Folini’s. 

Amanda and Sonny were now trying to get Fin to reveal details about the date he had planned for the next night. Fin was enjoying their attempts, but was giving nothing away. Apparently, Amanda and Sonny shared Frankie’s opinion that it was kind of cute how excited he was about the date, because they would not let it go. They were well into their second drink before the subject finally changed.

“I don’t know why you won’t tell us about her,” Amanda said to Fin. “We tell you everything.”

“Did it ever occur to you that might be _why_ I don’t tell you anything? You overshare. Both of you.”

Sonny’s offended look was hilarious. “I do _not_ overshare,” he insisted.

“You _so_ overshare,” Amanda laughed. 

“Oh, Partner, you do _not_ get to go there with me. I should _not_ know how many condoms you went through when you visited Frankie’s brother in Austin.”

“Ewwwww! Stop right there! I do not want to be in therapy for the rest of my life,” Frankie shouted. 

“Hey, look, we were celebrating! He’d just got the splint off his hand so we were finally able to-“

“Wait, what? What splint?” 

“Hmmmm?” Amanda asked, with a false confusion Frankie saw through instantly. 

“What happened to Rafe’s hand?” 

Amanda looked around the table, each of the other faces as blank as she was trying to make hers.

“Oh, you must have heard about it. He got… hurt on the ranch.”

“How? What happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t remember the details. I just know he was doing something with a steer, and his fingers got caught in a rope somehow.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They probably thought they’d be accused of oversharing!” Amanda laughed and began to tease Sonny about his own lack of discretion.

Something about the exchange bothered Frankie. Amanda was clearly lying, and Amanda had done enough undercover work to be a very good actress when called upon. But that was when she was prepared. She had clearly said something she shouldn’t have. There was something about Rafe’s hand injury Amanda, or Rafe, didn’t want Frankie to know. But that made no sense. What could be secret about a hand injury?

She was temporarily distracted from her thoughts when something across the street caught her eye; a familiar profile in a well-made suit walking in front of a Chinese restaurant the team never went to because it was far too expensive. Rafael was holding the door open for a striking blonde woman in a pantsuit Frankie had been drooling over the previous week at Barney’s. As she walked past him into the restaurant, the woman gave Rafael an unmistakable pat on the butt, which made him laugh in a way that made it clear the touch was quite welcome. 

[1] You don’t even care if he’s-

[2] This is not about -


	8. Reorientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba renews his commitment to his busy social life. OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas has some enlightening conversations.

It was late when Mike Dodds showed up at Forlini’s. By then, Fin and Carisi had already left and Amanda was getting ready to head home herself, but she stayed to have a last drink, not wanting to leave just as Dodds arrived. He worked too hard, and he had a thing about not getting too social with the detectives, trying to maintain an appropriate distance since he was their Sergeant. Amanda thought that was crap; Olivia socialized with them, after all, so she bought him a shot of tequila to go with his beer.

The conversation was typical Friday night, several-drinks-in fare, and it was exactly what Dodds needed to clear work from his head. Especially with these women, who flirted tipsily with him and were primed to laugh at his jokes. Amanda did excuse herself after she finished her last drink, though, leaving Frankie and Mike at the table.

“You want another one?”

“I don’t know, Mike, I’m kinda lit already.” Frankie made a face. 

“C’mon. I just got here.”

“Oh, what the hell. I’ll just switch to beer. I’m buying.”

When she returned with their drinks, she looked just a bit too long out the window. Dodds was not only a trained detective, he was also naturally intuitive. The look on her face didn’t escape him.

“What was that?” He asked, clinking his beer glass with hers.

“What was what?”

“That look. You see someone out on the street?”

“Mike. Clock out already. You are done Sergeant-ing for the day.”

Dodds laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrogate you. But I actually have been meaning to check in with you. About Canady, and everything that happened. How you doin’ with all that?”

Frankie’s eyes took on a speculative look. “I think I’m OK. My life is back to normal, and I haven’t had a prison dream in a while. And I didn’t realize until he was dead how often I was worrying about Alan finding me. So, you know… I think I’m good.”

“Glad to hear it. Sorry I had to be the one to arrest you.”

“Stop apologizing for that. It was your job, and you couldn’t have been nicer about it. Anyway, I’m pretty sure there are women who dream about you handcuffing them, Sergeant.” 

Dodds’ face twisted into a wry grin of sorts. “Well, I’m afraid they’re gonna have to go on dreaming.”

Frankie tried to keep her face impassive. “Oh? Rather handcuff men, would you?”

“Not into handcuffing at all, to tell you the truth, but yeah. If there’s handcuffing to be done, I’d prefer it be male.”

Frankie smiled and clinked her glass with his. “Gotcha.”

“You surprised?”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. OK, that’s a lie, I noticed you’re pretty, um…” she waved her hand up and down to indicate him. “What’s the professional way to say ‘sexy’? So I might be just a little disappointed. But I can’t say I blame you. I like dick, too.”

Dodds almost spit out his beer at that.

“Oh, shit. I must be drunker than I thought. Sorry about that, Mike. Sometimes my mouth tries to kill me.”

He swallowed and laughed. “No, don’t be sorry, that may be the best response I’ve ever gotten after coming out to a woman.” 

“So, obvious next question. Are you dating anyone?”

“Not currently, no. Which explains why I’m sitting here with you at ten O’clock on a Friday night.”

“Wow. That hurt.”

“No – that came out wrong. I just meant-“

Frankie laughed and put a hand on Mike’s arm. “I’m just giving you shit. I’m the wrong flavor. I get it.”

“But you are Barba’s flavor, and I gotta ask about that. I thought the two of you had a thing going.”

“For a grand total of one minute.”

“Bullshit. I see the way you look at eachother. And don’t even try to tell me all that yelling isn’t foreplay.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sergeant. I mean, yeah, he’s attractive enough, but we have a fundamental… difference of… opinion…”

Frankie’s voice trailed off and she gazed, eyes unfocused, at the tablecloth. 

“About?”

Her mind had suddenly been pulled back to Rafe’s hand injury. She wasn’t going to share her suspicion with Dodds, but she was just drunk enough to take the opportunity to unburden herself a bit. “Well, it’s…” She looked up at him and leaned in. “Can I talk to you about something sort of personal? Confidentially?”

“The doctor is in. Did you want to lie down on the couch, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Everybody’s a comedian. So the thing is, Barba thinks I did something to get Juwon Jefferson – you remember, the tweaker kid? Barba thinks I got him to say Alan was the Pattern 20 rapist and that he killed himself.”

“What, Barba thinks you killed Canady?”

“No, he says he believes me about that, but he thinks it’s awfully convenient that Jefferson suddenly started cooperating.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘And”? Barba thinks I tampered with a witness.”

“He thinks Jefferson lied?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But he thinks whatever he said, I put him up to it.”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Then who gives a fuck what Barba thinks?”

“I do. That’s the problem. I… Mike, I could really care for him. In fact, _in vino veritas_, I do really care for him. But I can’t have him thinking I did something like that.”

“Something like what? Frankie, seriously, let’s say you did – I don’t know – bribe Jefferson, or threaten him with something if he didn’t come clean. Hell, let’s even say you got him to lie. As long as you didn’t kill Canady – and you didn’t - so what?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” 

“Dead serious.”

“It would be OK with you if I bribed a witness to lie for me.”

“In this case? Yes.”

Frankie gaped at him, incredulous.

“Oh, grow the hell up, Doc. I might not even be all that upset if you were the one who offed the guy. You’re from Texas, right? What is it they say, ‘He needed killin’?” 

“You are honestly telling me…”

“Look, I don’t know, all right? I’m feeling that tequila, maybe in the cold light of day I would have a problem with you actually killing the guy. It would depend on the circumstances. But as it stands, he did himself to frame you, and if Jefferson hadn’t backed you, it would’ve worked. That, I definitely _would_ have a problem with.”

“Shit, Dodds. That’s basically what Barba said.”

“Then Barba’s right.”

“Listen, you gotta keep this between us, OK? Don’t say anything about… how I feel about Barba.”

“I won’t.”

“In fact, you gotta give me some collateral. Tell me something you don’t want anyone in the squad to know so I can blackmail you.”

“What was that phrase from the Cold War? ‘Mutually assured destruction?’”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think I’ve had that much to drink.”

“Then let _me_ tell _you_ something about you that you don’t want anyone in the squad to know. I’ve been sitting here multitasking, assimilating the idea of you being gay. Suddenly your reluctance to socialize with us makes a little more sense.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s Carisi, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, Frankie, you could destroy me with that.”

“Of course I couldn’t. Number one, I’m assuming you’ve never said or done anything about it.”

“Of course not! He’s my subordinate and he’s straight as an arrow.”

“And number two, I’d never say a word. Unless…” She gave him a wildly overdone evil leer with a mustache twirl.

“You’re diabolical.”

“I’m not, actually, but please don’t say anything to Barba.”

“I won’t, but you should. He’s into you.”

“A lot you know. Right this minute, he’s ‘into’ the Chinese restaurant across the street with a blonde.”

“I _knew_ you were looking at something out there!”

“Yeah, bully for me. Next, I’ll be driving by his house at night, just hoping to get a glimpse of him, like a bad country song.”

“You could do that. Or just fucking _talk_ to the man. I’m telling you, Frankie, you are the one making problems for the two of you. You need to lighten up and see the world for what it is.”

“Shit, you’re practically quoting him.”

“Then maybe you should listen. Because I _know_ he’s waiting for you to make a move.”

“He’s waiting with a blonde, Mike.”

“So? You’re here with me.”

“I think the blonde shares our preferences.”

“Again, so?”

“So I’m assuming he will be sharing leftovers with her in the morning.”

“Jeez, Frankie, how old are you? So he fucks her. _So what_?” 

“So I’m the jealous type. That would be a problem for me.”

“Oh, come on. Say I take you back to my place and fuck you stupid. All weekend, even. Is that going to change the way you feel about Barba?”

“Depends. Are there handcuffs?”

Mike laughed loudly. “I think in your profession, they call that ‘deflecting.’ Which means I win. It’s the twenty-first century and we’re grown-ass adults, Frankie. Let the blonde handcuff Barba all she wants. That isn’t gonna change the way he feels about you, and you shouldn’t let it change the way you feel about him.”

Frankie leaned back and shook her head. “I’ll think about it,” she said, frowning.

“Do that.”

She brought her eyes back to Dodds and leaned in again. “And you think about Carisi being straight. You may find he’s straight as a rainbow.”

“Shut up.”

“Yep. I’ve seen some things. And I can even find out for you, if you want.”

“He’d still be my subordinate.”

“I don’t want to know the details, Dodds,” Frankie winked.

“I meant that I’m his Sergeant.”

“I know what you meant,” she laughed. “And I’m going to find out how he rolls. Carefully, discreetly, and without even a hint of your name. I’ll let you know.”

*******************

“Hey, Snot-rocket!”

“You’re the snot-rocket, Snot-rocket. How’s it going?”

“It’s good. Got a bit of a squall comin’ through right now, which is messin’ with my plans for today, but life on a ranch, right?”

“Right. So… how’s the hand?” Frankie waited to see what Rafe would do with that question. 

As expected, his response was, “What hand?”

“I heard you had a couple of broken fingers, or sprained, or something. Twisted them working on a fence?” 

“Oh, that. That was a while ago, and it was nothin’. They’re fine.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Like you said, I twisted ‘em. Workin’ on a fence.” 

“We have different definitions of the word, ‘exactly,’ Rafe.”

“What are you, interrogatin’ me? Am I under arrest?”

“Hmmmm. Defensive reaction.”

“Frankie, what are you gettin’ at? I hurt my fingers. BFD.”

“Well, it is a big fucking deal if you’re lying to me because you hurt them beating up Juwon Jefferson to get him to talk to the cops.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. 

“Amanda tell you that?”

“No, you just did. What the _fuck,_ Rafe? That’s witness tampering. It’s _illegal_. Stone could use it to re-file the charges!”

“He ain’t gonna do nothin’ if you don’t tell him. Drop it, Frankie. I mean it. It’s over. You coulda been convicted of murder, and I wasn’t gonna let that sumbitch do you like that. That’s all I got to say about that.”

“Rafe…”

“That’s all I got to say. How’s Amanda doin’?” 

Nothing Frankie could say would get any more information out of her stubborn brother.

****************

Olivia was very surprised to see Frankie at her apartment door on a Saturday afternoon, but Porter wasn’t. They’d been texting, and he hadn’t been able to put Frankie off. The most she would agree to was to wait until Noah’s naptime before coming over. She was clearly upset.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Thanks, Liv, I’d love some.”

Porter sat down on a chair across from the couch where Frankie sat. “All right, so what’s the emergency?”

“You avoided me after I got out of Riker’s. I thought it was weird that I couldn’t get you to agree to a time to get together and talk about what happened with Alan, after all we’d been through.”

“And the fact that I was busy means I was avoiding you?”

“You were waiting for the bruises to heal.” 

Olivia handed Frankie a mug of coffee and sat next to her, an expectant look on her face as she looked at Porter. 

“You knew.” 

Olivia sighed. “I knew Dean was in a fight the night Jefferson was brought in, and that he asked me not to mention it to anyone at NYPD. But that’s all I knew.”

“Because you purposely didn’t ask any questions.”

“Best I could do. And, if you want my advice, I’d recommend you don’t ask any questions, either.”

“So it’s true. You-“

“Don’t say anything else, Frankie.” Porter advised, leaning forward toward her. “Just drop it, have some coffee. We can talk all you want about Canady. Let’s just not worry about Jefferson.”

Frankie drank deeply and thoughtfully. Barba’s coffee was infinitely better than Liv’s.

“Am I that much of a child?” She asked.

Liv took that one. “Frankie, you know me. You know how I do things. Would you call me a child?”

“Of course not.”

“Then neither are you. Now. Would you call me… oh, I don’t know. Crooked? A rogue cop?”

“Of course not. You’re one of the most righteous cops I know.”

“Then listen to me. I was one of the arresting officers in your case. It was bad. It was very bad. Based on everything I’ve seen, I was scared for you. So when I got the call about Jefferson, and he started to talk, I was relieved as hell. And when Dean showed up with bruises that night, I didn’t ask any questions. He’s an FBI agent. He gets beat up. I have no idea what happened to him, _and neither do you_.”

“What if Stone finds out?”

“Finds out what? Finds out Dean’s an FBI agent who sometimes gets in fights on the job? He already knows.”

“You know what I mean, Liv.”

“I know you’re drawing conclusions. I know you have no idea what did or didn’t happen while you were in Riker’s. And I know you should be grateful as all hell you’re not there now, and you should never think about it again. That’s what I know.”

Frankie sighed and took another long drink of dreadful coffee.

“You want to talk about something else?” Porter asked. “Because we have some news.”

Benson and Porter’s engagement was the only topic of conversation for the rest of Frankie’s visit. 

*********************

“Hey, Sonny, I need to ask your opinion on something.”

“Shoot, Doc.”

Sonny was sitting at his desk, searching online for a site on the dark web that had just turned up in a case. Frankie sat on the edge of the desk nearby. No one else happened to be in the squad room at the moment. 

“I have this cop friend. He’s gay and he’s thinking about coming out to his team. He wants to know what I think, and I haven’t been part of the NYPD for long enough to have a good sense of how that would go. You’ve been around NYPD for a while, worked in some different houses, what would you tell him?”

“Depends on his unit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like, if he works Gangs, he should move to the back of the closet and hide behind the winter coats. But some units are friendlier than that. Where’s he work?”

“Until he comes out, I’d prefer not to say. I trust you, I just don’t have his permission, you know?”

“Got it. Well, since you’re that discreet, let me tell you somethin’.” Sonny looked around to ensure their privacy. “SVU’s about the most LGBTQ-friendly unit there is in the NYPD, right? And even here, I publicly only date girls.”

“So you’re saying you’re bi, but you wouldn’t come out, even here.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.”

“Well, thanks for the insight. And the confidence. It’s not misplaced.”

“I know. And I’m out to Amanda, too, just so you know.”

“OK.” Frankie said, then pretended to be struck by a thought. “So listen, that being the case… I heard something. I need to thread the needle a little bit here, but… Someone, a guy, told me that they’re interested in you, and he wanted to know if you were straight. But he’s not out here, either.”

“Someone in SVU? A guy? Is interested in me?” 

“I didn’t say he was in SVU,” Frankie said, noticing that Carisi’s eyes instantly went to Dodds’ desk. “But he’s… around, and you know him. I told him I didn’t know where you stood, but I’d find out. I don’t know how to do this… I wouldn’t out you to him, even with your permission. It’s a rule I have. But could I tell him he could trust you not to shoot him if he made his interest known? Would that be OK?”

Sonny’s brow furrowed. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. And if you never mention it again, neither will I.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Sonny worked for a while longer. “Hey, this guy… What’s he like?”

“Tens across the board.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“OK. You can tell him I won’t shoot him. The rest is up to him.”

“Consider it done.”

*********************

Frankie needed advice. Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. She’d received quite a bit of advice on how to view what Porter and Rafe had done, all of it decidedly uniform. But she was having a tough time accepting it. She needed to talk to someone about it, and she didn’t know who to turn to. She respected and trusted the opinions she’d heard; it wasn’t that. The problem was, she needed to talk to someone whom she knew had unimpeachable principles of right and wrong. Actually, she would have loved to hear Peter Stone’s thoughts, but she would always be scared shitless of him. Also, she preferred to stay out of prison. Nikki? No, she knew Nikki would say what everyone else said. 

And then she thought of George Huang. 

“Frankie! What a nice surprise! Or is it? You’re not calling to curse me for letting you get involved with SVU, are you?”

Frankie laughed. She loved George. Even the relaxing sound of his voice made her feel better. “I’m not, but you could’ve warned me about Barba.”

“Ooh. Sorry about that. I guess I should’ve seen a little potential conflict there. You remind me of each other. Then again, maybe he’s good for you. He’s the only person I can think of who could say ‘no’ to you and make it stick. I’m guessing you find that as attractive as you do annoying.”

“Get out of my head, Professor. I’m not your student anymore.” 

“Listen, I was very sorry to hear about what you went through. With Canady.”

”Thanks, George. And thanks for your emails. I appreciate it.”

“How are you doing now?”

“Surprisingly well, actually. It will probably turn out to be good for me, professionally, to have had that experience. You know, maybe in ten, twenty years.”

Huang laughed softly. “I’m glad to hear you’re OK. I was worried.”

“Well, when I say I’m OK, that’s a bit relative. There is something I need to work through.”

“That’s what you said in your text. Your fifty minutes starts now. I’m expensive, make them count.”

*************

Carmen had been here before. Janice Edwards was not the first woman who “just happened to stop by hoping to catch Mr. Barba” when he was in court, and ended up pumping Carmen for information about him. She was, however, the first one who came bearing expensive coffee not for Mr. Barba, but for Carmen. Carmen hoped Ms. Edwards was a bit less obvious with judges. Ms. Edwards was perfectly aware that Mr. Barba had a hearing this afternoon; Carmen had heard him tell her about it not two hours before. Consummate professional that she was, Carmen sipped her coffee and smiled, despite the fact that she really wished Ms. Edwards was sitting in the chair next to her desk, rather than on her desk, leaning in as though they were the closest of friends. 

“I happened to see he had lunch with Bess Quinn yesterday. Do they have a case together?”

“Not currently, no.”

“Oh? What was the lunch about, then?”

This was not Carmen’s debut performance on this particular stage. “I’m not sure. This suit is just beautiful.”

“Really? When did she call to schedule it?”

“I’m not sure who scheduled it. He just asked me to put it on his calendar. Is this Alexander McQueen?”

Carmen thought she’d successfully answered all Ms. Edwards questions without actually saying anything when she started to talk about her suit. Five minutes later, however, she found herself fielding more questions, this time about what Mr. Barba had done this past weekend. That was interesting, given that Carmen had made reservations for him and Ms. Edwards at Xiāngliào on Friday night. But since Carmen knew nothing about what Mr. Barba had done over the weekend, she simply said so. 

“You know, between us girls, I think he’s seeing someone. Is he seeing someone?”

“Not that I’m aware, Ms. Edwards.”

“Oh, you know you can call me Janice. And you can tell me. He’s not back with Bess Quinn, is he?”

“I couldn’t say.” She also _wouldn’t_ say that Mr. Barba – well, Carmen on Mr. Barba’s behalf - had sent Ms. Quinn flowers after their lunch, or that he had tickets to see an opera in French with Adrien St. George the next night. Carmen could understand Ms. Edwards’ curiosity. Even for Mr. Barba, that was a lot of… socializing.

Carmen had to keep doing her job, even with Joyce Edwards in residence on her desk. Excusing herself, she answered Mr. Barba’s private line and was annoyed – but undetectably so – to see Ms. Edwards leaning in to try to hear.

“I’ll give him the message,” Carmen said, purposely not using the caller’s name or writing anything down for Ms. Edwards to read. She wouldn’t forget to tell Mr. Barba that Dr. Rojas wanted to speak to him. In fact, she’d been watching the two of them, and Carmen had some theories of her own about Mr. Barba’s social schedule.

***************

Frankie and Mike Dodds found themselves on the courthouse elevator together the following day. 

“Hey, Mike, that thing we talked about last Friday?”

“What thing?”

“I said I was going to get some information for you about that detective we talked about.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah. I made a discreet inquiry.”

“And?”

“I am authorized to tell you that they will not shoot you if you make yourself known to them.”

“I have no idea what the hell that means.”

“It means you should pursue that line of investigation.”

“No shit.”


	9. Aggravated Crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba's dating life is... off. And the more he thinks about OC Francisca "Frankie" Rojas, that entitled, rich bitch, the madder he gets at her. Now she comes to tell him he was right all along and expects him to be happy about it?

Barba was not happy. In fact, he was angry, confused, and frustrated. It hadn’t been a good couple of weeks, and there was no reason at all for that. It should have been a great couple of weeks. He’d gotten all the evidence in for the Fowler trial, even with Judge Paul “Evidence? What Evidence?” Ivanovitch. He’d practically made Trevor Langan cry when he got both Gonzalez brothers indicted. His Mami had finally given up the idea of a mother/son cruise without him having to actually admit he’d rather be eaten alive by a rabid wildebeest. And he’d finally gotten somewhere with Adrien St. George. Life was good. So why was he so out of sorts?

Well, he knew one reason. Something was off in the romance department. He’d taken Janice Edwards to dinner a couple weeks before, thinking he’d just have a nice, relaxing night with a woman who didn’t require a lot of effort, followed by some uninspired but guaranteed sex. She was certainly a lot less difficult than, for example, Francisca Rojas, with a much lower likelihood of fisticuffs breaking out between the appetizers and the entrée. And Janice hadn’t done anything wrong or different, except that Barba had found himself bored out of his mind and couldn’t face the idea of spending the night with her. So he hadn’t. Lunch with Bess Quinn had been just fine until he’d said something she didn’t like. He’d tried to get her to talk about it – hell, no doubt Francisca would have been perfectly happy to blast him right there at the table – but Bess had simply frozen him out for the rest of the meal. He tried to remember whether she’d always been like that, and had to admit that she had. He just hadn’t cared before. And his date with Adrien, who was the worst but sexiest court administrator he’d ever seen, had been – OK. She was interesting enough. Maybe not “arrested for murdering her ex-boyfriend” interesting, but that was a good thing, right? And speaking of Francisca, Adrien wasn’t nearly as difficult, and she actually seemed to like him. Everything with Adrien was just fine. She’d even invited herself back to his apartment after the opera. He didn’t understand what had happened, but what had happened was… nothing. They’d had a drink and he’d sent her home in a cab. 

At first, he’d thought maybe he needed a vacation or something. But then he realized that what he needed was to stop comparing every woman to Francisca Rojas. 

The more he thought about it, the angrier at her he became. She was just like the rest of her privileged ilk, swishing around in her Prada and pearls, positive that the moral high ground was her birthright and turning up her nose at the idea that sometimes life got messy. And where the hell did she get off bludgeoning him for using a common phrase like “spin a story”? People said that all the time, for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t intended as a moral indictment of her character. _I can’t date you if you think I did something bad?_ What kind of bullshit was that? Fuck, he hated rich, entitled people like her.

*********

Her skirt was soft, brushed suede and fit her beautifully, modest and insanely sexy at the same time. Rafael could only imagine the price tag. Her silky fuchsia button-down blouse was a filmy, clingy cloud that exerted a draw on his eyes so powerful that he constantly had to refocus, tearing his gaze from the few buttons she’d casually left undone and the swell of her breasts. It physically hurt him, somewhere in the center of his chest, to look at her and want her as much as he did, to remember what it was like to work and argue and laugh with her, sick with the knowledge that, in truth, she was not who he’d briefly allowed himself to imagine she was. Instead, he had been right all along. She was everything he hated.

“I needed to talk to you about something. I’d really rather not discuss this here, and I’m sorry I had to ask Carmen to put me on your schedule, but I haven’t been able to connect with you.”

“What is it you need, Doctor?” _Was Barba’s voice cold? Was he purposely continuing to focus on his computer screen rather than look at her? _ That was not what she’d come to expect from him. She had never seen him intentionally impolite, but he was now.

“May I close your door?”

He waved nonchalantly, still not looking at her.

“May I sit?” The edge that now crept into in her voice finally made him look up. 

“Go ahead,” he said without inflection, flicking a hand in the direction of the chairs before his desk.

Maybe he thought she was still upset with him. _Of course,_ she thought, _that had to be it. He didn’t know why she was here._ “I’ve learned some things that you deserve to know. And I owe you an apology.”__

_ _He didn’t respond. He stayed still, not a flicker of emotion crossing his closed features, and he said nothing. _What the hell?__ _

_ _“I know why Juwon Jefferson came forward with his information about Alan Canady. I swear on my mother’s grave that I didn’t kill Alan, and I believe that every word Jefferson said was true. But you were right. He was… coerced.”_ _

_ _Still Barba said nothing. He kept his face completely neutral, but his breathing had become just a bit deeper and, consciously or not, he was clenching his jaw. Which didn’t look to Frankie like surprise. Well, she’d expected him to be mad. He was entitled to some righteous anger at her for taking such a holier-than-thou attitude with him when she left his apartment. She’d certainly expected a hefty ration of mocking for being so wrong. Except this looked like… disgust. Hate, almost._ _

_ _“I needed to tell you that you were right, and I was wrong. And I apologize to you for the way I reacted.”_ _

_ _Frankie had said what she had to say, so she waited for him to respond. Maybe he was thinking about what he wanted to say? She tried to be patient and give him time to do that. It ended up taking a full minute._ _

_ _“And what is it you want from me in return for this blinding revelation that I can, in fact, see what’s right in front of my nose and may perhaps not be an entirely soulless bottom-dweller after all? Or am I giving myself too much credit?”_ _

_ _Frankie recoiled as though he had struck her. She felt like he had. _ _

“I think you once told me you_ like_ being on the receiving end of an apology.” She tried a small smile, which died as she looked into his eyes. 

_ _“I don’t particularly like anything about this conversation, Doctor. What is it you want?”_ _

_ _“Barba, I… I don’t want anything from you.”_ _

_ _“Then why are you here?”_ _

_ _“I don’t understand. What… We were starting to be friends before Jefferson, weren’t we? And I messed that up. I’m trying to fix that. I need you to know that I know you were right, but I’m having a hard time dealing with that, and I… just…”_ _

_ _“Ah. So that’s it. You want absolution. You want me to tell you that you’re still pure as the driven snow, even though somebody else had to get dirty to keep you that way, and I had the regrettably poor breeding to mention it.” _ _

_“What? _ No, I…” 

_ _“Apology accepted. Now, did you need anything else? Anything work-related?” _ _

_ _“What’s this about? Why are you talking to me like this? I said I was wrong, and I’m sorry…”_ _

_ _“I heard you. And I’ve accepted your apology. You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you a damn parade for it.”_ _

_ _“I don’t want-“_ _

_ _“What do you want? I’ve asked you that several times since you waltzed in here and I have yet to get an answer. I have things to do, even if you don’t.” _ _

_ _Frankie was blindsided and too wounded even to feel anger at this point. She was too appalled even to cry. This was far worse than when Alan had turned on her. With Alan, there had been some warning. It had come on gradually. Besides which, she had never had deep feelings for Alan. But this, with Barba… she had fallen in love with him, never having the first inkling this side of him existed. So he had been able to get right next to her heart before he struck. _ _

_ _She stumbled out of his office, her only instinct being to run. Just as it had been with Alan._ _

_ _Unbelievable. It was exactly as he’d thought. Expressing all sorts of wonderment at having discovered – apparently all by herself, as though Barba hadn’t said it to her five minutes after it happened - that someone beat the tar out of Juwon Jefferson to make him come forward. And then she just sat there, all big eyes and expectation, as though he was going to – what? Thank her for sharing? Congratulate her on her wisdom and foresight in having friends who would put themselves in that kind of jeopardy for her? It had been all he could do not to throw her out of his office. _ _

_ _******************_ _

_ _The suspect was a notorious South American playboy, son of a diplomat, who appeared entirely uninterested in the severity of the aggravated rape charges pending against him. The entire Western Hemisphere knew that Guillermo Maduro could speak English if he chose, but he insisted on being interrogated in Spanish, which meant that Barba and Rojas were doing the questioning. They both hated Maduro on sight, as did everyone who had been involved in his arrest. That wasn’t going to get them any evidence they could use, however, which was why, at that moment, Frankie was laughing softly at his inappropriate joke and touching her hair. _ _

_ _Maduro was a pig. He kept aiming his hooded gaze at her breasts, then raising his eyebrows. She wanted to pull a garbage bag over herself to protect her body from his leer, but she swallowed her disgust and preened instead. Barba wanted to kill him. As he watched Maduro basically lick Francisca with his eyes, Barba had recurring fantasies of taking him out with a hatchet. _ _

_ _“Come on, Doctor, it’s different for people like us, yes?” Maduro’s voice, as he apparently tried to sound smooth, sounded instead like a cold lump of Vaseline._ _

Barba could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. He remembered hearing someone say something like that, a long time ago, to differentiate themselves from_ him._

_ _“Tell me,” Frankie said. Every instinct she had told her to punch Maduro in his drooling mug. Instead, she tried to look demure and interested instead. “What does that mean?”_ _

_ _“Those people, they have all these tired rules.” _ _

_ _“Such as?”_ _

_ _“Oh, come now, Doctor. This woman, she says I attacked her. I did not attack. A man like me, I do not need to attack. But your police pretend to believe her because of the news. They must look as though they believe that woman over me.”_ _

_ _“But they should believe you over her,” Frankie said._ _

“Well,” Maduro bestowed his wide, white, greasy smile on her. “Of course, we cannot say these things too loudly. You know how _those kind of people_ are. People who do not understand, they will misinterpret." 

_ _It came to Barba in that moment where he had last heard someone so shamelessly asserting that money and social standing came with different rules. It had been at Harvard, during a cocktail party that Rafael had attended as an officer of La Alianza, the Latino student association at the law school. He was standing close together with two other officers of the group, feeling small and wildly out of place. His little knot of overwhelmed students were standing just to the side of a large, well-lubricated group in which a tall, red-faced white man was holding forth about how admirable it was that Harvard allowed “those kinds of people” to attend so that they could return home and “fix their neighborhoods.” The talk went on to a discussion of how “people like that” simply had “different values,” “didn’t understand how we do things” and, after graduation would be happiest if they returned to where they were “comfortable.” From there, it had only gotten worse. By the time Rafael finally signaled that they should simply leave, the President of La Alianza, a young woman of Venezuelan descent who seemed mousy until she opened her mouth and blew you away with her rhetorical skills, actually had tears in her eyes. Maduro would have fit right in with that Harvard crowd except, of course, that he would not have been welcome._ _

_ _“You can tell us,” Frankie purred. “We’ll understand.”_ _

_ _“Yes, I can see by your clothes, both of you, that you are not like the police. We are a different sort, aren’t we? We understand each other.”_ _

_ _For a moment, Frankie thought that Barba had exploded out of his chair in order to attack Maduro. She wouldn’t have blamed him, but she prepared to try to intervene._ _

_ _“Dr. Rojas, a word, please.” His voice was low and tight._ _

_ _In the squad room, Rafael poured himself a cup of coffee and drank half of it before he spoke._ _

"_¿Estas bien? ¿Cuál es el problema?"_[1] Frankie asked, concern evident on her face and in her posture as she stood and touched his arm. He roughly threw her hand from him. That stung, but she chose to ignore it. 

_ _“That man is… I can’t even think of words vile enough.”_ _

_ _“And you know all the good ones, too,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Good idea to take a break for a while.”_ _

_ _They walked slowly back toward the hallway where Benson, Dodds, and Carisi stood in front of the one-way window into the interrogation room, chatting together. Still speaking Spanish, Frankie and Rafael stayed to the side of that group as Frankie tried to understand what was happening with Barba. Of course, she had been trying to figure that out since he’d basically tossed her out of his office the other day, but that was a different matter._ _

_ _“I find it incomprehensible that you can be so obsequious to him.”_ _

_ _“I’m not being obsequious. Maybe a lot more sympathetic than I really feel…”_ _

_ _“He doesn’t seem to bother you.” _ _

_ _That got under Frankie’s skin. “Well, I’m going to take that as a compliment to my rapport-building skills, because I detest that prick. When he’s gone, I’m gonna bleach my brain to get him out. This whole precinct. Maybe the entire city.”_ _

_ _“Really.” Rafael’s voice had a nasty edge._ _

_ _Frankie was stunned. He could not be serious. He could not be saying that he thought she had any sympathy for that cretin. “Of course, really. I fucking hate that asshole.”_ _

_ _“Are you sure? Because that’s not what it looks like from here.”_ _

“That’s not what it’s _supposed_ to look like from here. You _do_ understand what I’m trying to do here, right?" 

_ _“Yeah, I’m familiar with the basic concept of flirtation, Doctor.”_ _

_ _The hurt in her eyes was unmistakable, as was the shock at this fresh assault. She physically flinched. When she responded, there was no trace of challenge, vanity, or anything resembling humor in her voice. There was only a raw plea._ _

“Barba, can we be real for just a second? Please? This man is filth. I want to just brick in the windows and doors and leave him in there to rot. Yeah, I’m trying to build rapport with him by putting my gag reflex on hold and pretending to be sympathetic. Because that’s my _job_. I’m doing it to _get _him. Is that not clear to you? You and I are on the same side.” 

“People like you and Maduro, are you ever really on _any_ side, other than your own?" 

_ _She didn’t intend to do it. She didn’t even see it coming. If she had, she certainly would have stopped herself. But when she heard Barba, the man she loved, lump her together with the smarmy, hateful rapist in the box, Frankie emitted a loud, wordless yell as the last of her patience frayed and snapped. She reached back and slapped him across the face as hard as she possibly could. Which was pretty hard. _ _

_ _“You prejudiced snob asshole! I am nothing like him! And I will finish this interrogation on my own because I really, really need you to get the fuck out of my sight.”_ _

_ _There was no sound but the soft clunk of Rafael’s shoes as he walked out of the squad room._ _

_ _Frankie turned a deep shade of red and stormed back into the interrogation room._ _

Standing next to the one-way glass, Dodds leaned in to Carisi, asking softly, “What do you suppose he _said_?" 

_ _“With Barba? It’s anyone’s guess. I’m just glad I got to be here to see that!”_ _

_ _“Neither of you saw that,” Olivia said severely._ _

_ _Carisi blinked, innocence flowing down to cover his expression like a mask. “Saw what, Lieu?” _ _

_ _Olivia went into the box. She wasn’t exactly bilingual, but her Spanish would have to do. It was enough. By the time she and Rojas emerged again, Frankie had flirted Guillermo Maduro into a noose he was not going to escape. Olivia didn’t think some of the names she’d called him after his confession were particularly necessary, but then she didn’t think they were all really aimed at Maduro, either._ _

_ _Rafael walked down the hall to the elevators, holding his cheek and smiling like an absolute lunatic. In one second, the bottom had dropped out of his carefully-constructed self-delusion at the same time a blinding ray of hope pierced the sky. That slap had hurt for sure. But now he understood, and he knew that he deserved it._ _

_ _Francisca Rojas was nothing like the caricature he’d painted of her in his mind, and she’d done absolutely nothing to deserve the way he’d treated her. She had been nothing but her genuine self every moment he’d known her. It was all him. He was the asshole. _ _

He had treated her like absolute garbage when they’d met, for no reason other than his own – well, she’d said it - snobbery and prejudice. But then, as soon as he could swoop in and protect her from Alan Canady, and be her stability when she’d been rocked to her core by her arrest, he had been perfectly happy to fall in love with her. _Yes, Barba, admit it, you fell in love even before she did._ Because when she was in need, he could feel superior to her. But the moment she’d begun to recover, to show signs of strength and self-sufficiency, he’d reverted to the scholarship kid from Harvard and rejected her before she could reject him. Or something like that. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had finally seen the truth of who she’d been all along, and it was so clear and obvious he marveled at his own disastrous ability to pretend otherwise for as long as he had. 

_ _Oh, he was a complete and utter dick; he had no illusions about that anymore. But he would make that up to her if it took him the rest of his life, and he would love every second of it. And she’d let him. No matter what he had to do, he would get her back, and he would make her let him apologize to her until she could no longer even remember what he was apologizing for. Rafael would never have imagined he could be so deliriously happy about getting smacked around by the woman he loved in front of a room full of cops. _ _

_ _What to do? Fill her apartment with roses. No, she was a little too pissed for that right now; she was likely to stuff them all in his apartment and take a flamethrower to them. Go to her on his knees with the biggest diamond ring he could find. No again, and for the same reason. If he put his chin in the neighborhood of her legs right now, she would boot him into New Jersey. Hold a boom box over his head outside her apartment window? Still no. She said she could shoot the eye out of… something small. The point was, that wasn’t going to work. _ _

_ _OK, he was going to have to find a way to get her to at least hear what he had to say. He smiled evilly. There was one sure-fire way to do that. And he knew some very clever people who would help him make it happen. By the time she figured out she’d been had, hopefully he would have at least talked her into not killing him. What was a little unlawful imprisonment after everything else he’d done to her?_ _

_ _For the rest of the day, Rafael felt really stupid wearing a dopey grin around all the time. But he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. _ _

_ _***************_ _

_ _“Carisi, I got an assignment for you.”_ _

_ _“Yeah, Sarge. What is it?”_ _

_ _“Well, it’s a little bit off the books. So feel free to say no. It’s kind of a personal favor for Barba.”_ _

_ _************_ _

Sitting in the back seat of the squad car, Frankie thought this might be what an out-of-body experience felt like. She had been upset for days after Barba had basically thrown her out of his office, and she still had no idea what she’d done to deserve it. Then, today, the things he’d said… The things he’d accused her of… And then, as though she had never done the slightest bit of work on controlling her temper, as though she was a teenage drama queen or a big-haired siren on a _telenovela_, she’d slapped Barba across the face in front of the entire NYPD. Or at least, that’s how it had felt. 

_ _Now, as though she wasn’t unhinged enough, Dodds and Carisi were hustling her to some building somewhere, where there was a man who needed… something. It was all still confusing to her, but Dodds kept reassuring her that they just needed her psychiatric expertise to talk to this guy. He didn’t have a hostage. He didn’t have any weapons, there was no danger, he was just a guy who, for some reason unfathomable to Frankie, they needed her to talk to. It was ridiculous and doomed to failure, because she knew absolutely nothing about this man or what his issues were, but Frankie had worked for a federal bureaucracy for a long time. Sometimes the brass made decisions for reasons known only to them and God. And sometimes even God was a little iffy on the logic. _ _

_ _The car pulled up to a small, empty-looking unit in an industrial park. In the fading light of late afternoon, the unit appeared to be a few offices attached to a larger space that could be used for a small manufacturing or warehousing business. It was sort of a lonely-looking area since it was after business hours and at least half the units appeared to be untenanted. _ _

_ _“OK, so, Doc, you stay here. We’re gonna go in, do a little recon, talk to the guy and see if everything’s secure. Won’t take more than a minute or two. As long as everything’s kosher, we’ll come out and get you.”_ _

_ _“OK, whatever. I still say this is a jacked up way to be doing things.”_ _

_ _“Welcome to the NYPD,” Carisi grinned, unfolding his long legs from the vehicle._ _

The two walked toward the door of the unit, tried it and found it unlocked, then went in. In her tired irritation, Frankie nonetheless had a second to notice how good Dodds and Carisi looked together. She really hoped something nice would happen for them. Which kicked her mind back over into the track it had been stuck in. _What the hell was the matter with Rafael Barba? And what was she going to do about it?_

_ _Only a few minutes later, Dodds and Carisi stepped out the front door of the office section of the unit, signaling her. Frankie sighed, looped her carryall over her shoulder, and got out of the car. She went to them._ _

_ _“So? What’s the situation?”_ _

_ _“It’s all good. Come on in,” Dodds said. “Everything’s copacetic, we just need you to talk to this guy.”_ _

_ _Shaking her head slightly, Frankie walked through the door Carisi held open for her. She didn’t see the look that passed between him and Dodds behind her. She found herself in a small reception area empty of furniture, with a short hallway running toward a door that appeared to connect to the larger workroom/warehouse section of the unit. Two doors opened on each side of the hallway._ _

_ _“He’s in the last office on the left,” Dodds said. “We’ll wait here in the lobby.”_ _

_ _Frankie walked uncertainly down the hallway to the door Dodds had indicated, then knocked._ _

_ _“Come in,” a male voice said. _ _

_ _She opened the door and was stunned to see Barba sitting on the edge of a bare metal desk. _ _

_ _“What the hell…?” She said._ _

_ _“Come on in. Have a seat,” he said, indicating two cheap stacking chairs with metal frames and torn fabric seats. _ _

_ _“What’s going on?” Frankie asked, scowling at Barba and considering backing up out of the room._ _

_ _“I need to talk to you,” he answered, his voice softer and kinder than she’d heard it for months._ _

_ _At that moment, she heard the front door of the unit close, and the sound of something metal. _ _

“What…” She turned and rushed down the hall to see Dodds and Carisi just finishing padlocking the door _on the outside_. She yelled at them and pounded on the door, but they simply waved at her, smiling, and went to sit in their squad car. 

_ _She pulled her phone from her carryall and texted Dodds._ _

__ __**Frankie Rojas:**  
WTF  
**Mike Dodds:**  
Listen to him.  
**Frankie Rojas:**  
I will break the glass out of this door.  
**Mike Dodds:**  
Good luck with that. It’s unbreakable Hammerglass. Let him say what he has to say. 

_ _She tried Carisi._ _

__ __**Frankie Rojas:**  
Don’t be a party to this BS – you’re nicer than them.  
**Sonny Carisi:**  
Dodds is my boss, Barba’s helping me get hooked up with the D.A.’s office.  
**Frankie Rojas:**  
I am vengeful and creative and have a long memory.  
**Sonny Carisi:**  
He needs to talk to you. Let him. 

_ _Frankie blew out her breath in annoyance as she leaned her back against the wall of the lobby. From down the hall she heard Barba call, “I could have told you they’re on my side, but you would have tried anyway.”_ _

_ _“I could call other cops. Cops who don’t owe you favors,” she shouted to him._ _

_ _“That’s why Dodds and Carisi are staying. Just in case they need to intervene.”_ _

_ _“I really hate you right now.”_ _

_ _“I know. But you’ll get over it.”_ _

_ _

_ _[1] Are you OK? What’s the problem?_ _


	10. Wooing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Dodds and Sonny Carisi are together on a stakeout of sorts, which gives them a chance to talk while they wait nearby to make sure Rafael Barba and OC Francisca (Frankie) Rojas don't kill each other.

As they sat in the squad car in the gathering dark, Mike Dodds nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He darted a glance at Sonny Carisi every once in a while, but mostly just looked out the windshield toward the door of the office where Barba and Frankie were. 

“You nervous about this, Sarge? Because we both know they’re either screamin’ or screwin’ in there. No other options with those two. And we’re not gettin’ involved with either one.”

Dodds smirked and gave a laugh. “That’s for sure.”

“So what are you so nervous about?” 

‘I’m not nervous. This is just how I am on a stakeout.”

“Dude, I’ve been on stakeouts with you where I had to tell you jokes to keep you awake. And those were ones with real criminals.”

“Whatever. Maybe I just need a drink. Assuming we don’t have to process a crime scene in there, you maybe wanna have a drink after this?”

“I thought you had a thing about not fraternizing with the minions?”

“So don’t fraternize,” Dodds joked with a weak smile.

“Yeah, OK. Sure.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching nothing happen. Carisi rolled his window down briefly and, sure enough, faint sounds of yelling could be heard coming from the industrial unit. The men shared a look and a grin.

Which got Carisi thinking, again, about how attracted he was to Dodds. He’d jumped at this chance to spend some time together, just the two of them. Carisi wasn’t afraid of the way he felt, because he knew he could never, ever act on it. He could only imagine what Dodds would do if he knew how much Sonny wanted to reach over and take his hand from the steering wheel and curl their fingers together… _Wait a minute. Dodds had asked him if he wanted to have a drink after this. Together. Just the two of them. Holy shit. But no. It couldn’t be. That would be a dream come true, but… It couldn’t be Dodds. Could it?_

“Hey, um, Dodds… This is just a wild guess, and I’m sure it wasn’t you, but… Did you happen to… talk to Frankie about me?”

_Did Dodds hesitate there?_ “Whaddaya mean? Of course I’ve talked to Frankie about you before.”

“No, I meant… never mind.” _Don’t be an idiot, Carisi. Dodds isn’t into guys, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be into you._

For a moment, Mike Dodds felt as though he’d been abducted by aliens. _This could not be real. Did Carisi just look at him like… Shit, he’s beautiful. Look at those eyes. Come on, Dodds. He said he wouldn’t shoot you just for letting him know you’re interested. He’s a nice guy. He’ll be kind when he lets you down. Which he will. But still, don’t waste this chance. _Dodds cleared his throat. “Oh. That.”

“Huh?”

He cleared his throat again and forced himself to look at Sonny. He’d looked down the barrels of guns with less fear. “Yeah, I, uh… I am the one who talked to Frankie about you.”

The smile that spread across Sonny’s lips stopped Mike’s heart.

“So this drink,” Sonny almost whispered. “Would it be… a date?”

“Can’t be. I’m your superior officer.”

Sonny’s smile got bigger. “That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

“You’re right,” Mike said, able to smile a little himself, now that Sonny had actually not shot him. More shocking still, he also appeared to be happy to know that Mike was the fellow cop that was interested in him. “That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

“I hope these two don’t start shooting,” Sonny observed, indicating the building where Barba and Frankie were. “I’m gonna be distracted now.”

“Welcome to the party, pal. You’ve been distracting me for months.”

Mike felt it deep down when Sonny gave him that gorgeous, crinkly smile like a little kid handed a puppy.

***********************

Barba sauntered out to the lobby, a cup of takeout coffee in each hand. He handed Frankie one, which he was happy to see she accepted. It was still hot. 

“Strychnine or Hemlock?” She asked, taking a sip anyway.

“Hemlock would have been very classical of me, but all I got you was a shot of vanilla.”

“This is unlawful imprisonment.”

“Only if a court says it is.”

“You don’t think I can find a way to get out of here?”

“I’m sure you can. Which is a bit of a weakness in your unlawful imprisonment case.” 

“Well, since we both agree I can escape, why don’t we do this the easy way and you just let me out?”

“Because I have some things to say and I want you to listen.”

“Now you want to talk. You barely acknowledge me for months except to scream at me, you dodge my calls, I have to make a fucking appointment with Carmen to get you to sit still long enough to hear me out, and now because you’re suddenly in the mood to talk, I’m supposed to listen?” 

Barba thought she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her, annoyed and enraged and frustrated. He wished he could just take her against the wall here and now, but he figured he’d get hot coffee in the face for even suggesting it, and his face was still a little tender from that slap earlier.

“Please listen to me.” 

“No. You’ve said quite enough for one day. So you’ve committed a Class E felony for nothing.”

“Class A misdemeanor. I could only be charged with second degree unlawful imprisonment because you’re not in danger of physical harm.” 

“No, but you are,” she hissed. He really was irresistible when he smirked like that, the shit.

“You’re not gonna slap me again, are you? Cuz I deserve it, but that really hurt.”

“You deserve a full-on ass-kicking, is what you deserve. But I am sorry I slapped you. Violence is the resort of the weak-minded.” 

“And the seriously pissed off.”

“Them, too.”

“You have a right to be angry.”

“Damn straight I do! And I am! How dare you compare me to that snake Maduro! Do you have any idea how… And you have no idea what it was like to sit there in your office and… AAAUGH! And then you have the gall to tell me… AAAUGH! I oughtta rip your head off and spit down your neck! I oughtta…”

“You oughtta let me apologize. And try to explain.”

“I have no desire to hear you explain anything, you fucking self-centered, unfeeling, pocket-square-wearing, sadistic… jackwagon!”

He turned and walked calmly down to the office he’d been in, bringing the cheap metal chairs with him and setting them down near her. She looked at him as though he’d sprouted butterfly wings.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna sit here and watch you having a tantrum.”

“You’re gonna _what_?”

“I’m gonna sit –“

“I heard what you said. You can’t just sit there and watch me. You have to fight with me.”

“No, I don’t. But feel free to yell at me for as long as you need to. I know what a jackass I’ve been. I deserve it.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop smiling like that. Stop being amused by me. You fucking _hurt_ me, Barba. You treated me like I was – like I was _Maduro_. You damn well know I’m not like him. You _know_ that! So don’t you dare sit there fucking smiling like everything’s gonna be OK. It’s not. You’re an asshole, and you’re cruel, and you’re cold, and you’re too fucking arrogant by half. You’re aaaaaalwaaaays right. Well, you were wrong as fuck this time, and I tried to tell you that like a million times, but you wouldn’t listen to me. And you know what? It’s too late now. You blew it. I loved you and you blew it. So let me out of here.”

“No.”

“Don’t ‘no’ me. Let me out. I don’t want to be here with you.”

“I know. But you will.”

“Barba, seriously. Let me the hell out of here.”

“Come over here. Sit by me. Or yell at me some more.”

“Let. Me. Out.”

“I love you.”

“Let me out!!!”

“Did you hear me? I love you.”

“I heard you. Strap in for a big surprise, you conceited shit. I don’t care. Let me out. And stop fucking smiling!”

“I can’t help it. I love you. And I finally said it.”

“Well, boo ya for you. Smug bastard. I said it to you about a hundred years ago. And you didn’t… you just… And then I had to see you with that woman in the pantsuit _I_ wanted…“

As soon as she started to choke over her words and he saw tears in her eyes, he sprang up from the chair and went toward her. He tried to put his arms around her, but she turned her back, ripping herself from his hands, and stepped away from him. 

“I don’t want to be here with you,” she said, no longer yelling – now trying valiantly not to cry, but already sniffling.

“I think you do.”

“Of course you think I do. You’re an egotistical…”

“Jackwagon?”

“That’ll do for now.”

“You love me.”

She whirled around, trying to be angry again. “So what? Huh? So what? I’ll get over it. You think I’m ever gonna trust you again after the things you said? You think I’m stupid enough to ever let you anywhere near me? I’m not. So do whatever you have to do to let me out of this place. It’s over. You lost. Go have Chinese food with the pantsuit.”

“Come sit by me.” 

“No.” 

“Will you at least listen to me?”

“No. I’m serious, Barba, let me the fuck out of here.”

“Here. Let me give you a tissue.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Yes, you are. You’re crying because you love me. And I love you.”

“Of all the cocky, narcissistic…” She stepped just close enough to tear the tissue from his hand.

“Come sit by me.”

“No. I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Quit saying that!” 

“Sit. C’mon. You don’t have to sit close. Just sit.”

“I’m not sitting. You want me to sit. So I’m not sitting.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that. “Will you listen?”

“I don’t seem to have a choice. Which, just to remind you, is unlawful imprisonment and if you choose to give up your right to remain silent every single fucking word you say will be used against you in a court of law. So choose wisely.”

“Francisca, I’m sorry. I screwed up in every possible way. I hurt you, because I thought you were someone you’re not. Someone who hurt me. And I knew you better than that. I betrayed your trust. You’re the woman I love, and I was a coward, and jealous, and petty, and I’m more sorry than I can ever possibly tell you.”

“And you kidnapped me.”

“Yes, I did. And that was wrong. Necessary, and actually kind of genius, but wrong.”

She glared at him.

He tried to stop smiling and look contrite. “Very, very wrong.” 

She stood, saying nothing, arms crossed.

“What else do you need to hear? Just tell me, and I’ll say it.”

“I need to hear the sound of that door opening. That’s what I need to hear.” 

“Francisca, I can’t excuse my behavior. But I can explain where it came from. Maybe if you know that, you might be willing to let me start to apologize. Because you were right about me. I am a snob, and prejudiced. I’m owning my bias. Rich people, people who think the rules don’t apply to them, who look down on people like me and my family… It makes me crazy.”

“I noticed.”

“And when it came to you, I got completely turned around.”

Frankie didn’t respond, which Barba took as a good sign. “Will you let me tell you?”

She looked at him over her coffee cup. “Five minutes.”

“When I was at Harvard…”

**********

“Have I really been distracting you?” Carisi asked, looking shyly at Dodds in a way he’d never seen before, with a flirtatious little smile Dodds was glad he’d never seen before. If he had, he would’ve done something inappropriate long before now. 

“Let it go, Carisi. We’re on the job.” Sonny might have been a little stung by that, except for the tiny grin Dodds couldn’t control.

“Well, when we’re not on the job, I want to hear about it.”

“You’re not gonna go all needy on me, are you, Carisi?”

It wasn’t Mike’s fault. Sonny turned his smile on at full power, with that flirtatious tilt to his head. Mike was helpless to resist. 

“OK, fine,” he said. “I think you’re hot. OK? Happy now?”

“Yeah,” Sonny shrugged happily. “You thinkin’ I’m hot, that’s pretty good.”

Dodds shook his head, running his hand through his hair and turning to look out the window, but smiling against his will. “Shit. I don’t know if I can handle you.”

“One way to find out,” Carisi said, a seductive note in his voice that Dodds felt inside. He risked a look over at Sonny, who was looking at him invitingly, dimples on full display on either side of his plump, pink lips. 

“Damn it,” Dodds muttered, leaning toward Carisi, who closed the distance. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Sonny’s hand reaching to cup his cheek. When their lips met, Sonny made just the slightest noise as he exhaled, unleashing a storm of lightning in Mike’s lower abdomen.

**********************

Frankie drank her coffee while Barba told her several things she’d never known about him. Things, in fact, most people didn’t know about him. Frankie was hurt and angry. She wasn’t particularly disposed to see his point of view. But the things he told her explained quite a bit, and they resonated with her. She listened for far longer than five minutes, and he noticed when she began to nod with recognition.

“I know what you’re talking about,” she said quietly. “My father made sure we did. I’m not saying I can get where you are. I can’t. I’m not you. But I do respect your experience, because I have just enough of my own to know it’s real. Not only in terms of money, but racially, as well. It’s not easy being Mexican in Texas, no matter how much money you have. But having said that, Barba, I’m not them. Don’t do to me what they did to you. I’m just me. Judge me on me, not anyone else.”

“I am. I do.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

“What happens now?” He asked, wanting to stand and take her in his arms, but not wanting to break this fragile peace.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answered honestly.

“I have some wonderful ideas,” he suggested. “Come home with me and I’ll tell you all about them.”

“No.”

He gulped. “No?”

“Oh, no. You think you just kidnap me and we have a heart-to-heart and then you get to take me back to your place? It’s not gonna happen like that. You fucked up. If you want me to come home with you, there needs to be dating. Wooing.”

“Wooing.”

“That’s what I said. If you ever hope to get me back to your apartment again, you’re gonna have to woo me. And not ‘Carmen does all the work and you just show up’ wooing. Real wooing, Barba. I want to see some effort.”

“I can do that. But tell me… how long does this ‘wooing’ process last?”

“I’ll let you know.” She put her carryall over her shoulder. “Now, tell Dodds and Carisi to let us out.” 

Barba stood, a little stunned and a lot disappointed, but ready to do whatever ‘wooing’ was required to get Francisca back into his life for good. He picked up his jacket, sighing. “I just need to signal them from the door.”

He followed her down the hall and to the door, but was surprised when she stopped short, put a hand on his chest, and pushed him a couple of steps backward.

“Um… Text them.”

Barba did a double take. “Why?”

“Just… text them.”

“What’s…” he went to step around her, but she stepped in front of him again. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, confused. 

“That’s need-to-know. And you don’t.” 

He just looked at her for a moment.

“Will you just trust me on this?” She asked.

“Maybe. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Kiss me.”

Frankie stood very close to him, looking up at him, considering. “I want to, but I don’t want to encourage your behavior.”

“OK, so here’s my offer. I don’t ask questions, you kiss me, and I agree never to kidnap you again.”

She grinned and stepped to him, taking her time as she slid her arms around his neck. “I can live with that,” she said, tilting her head as Barba, smiling, touched his lips to hers. 

It began a bit oddly, because neither of them could control the smiles turning their lips up, but they wanted very much to kiss each other, so they made it work. And it wasn’t long before Frankie’s fingers were buried in Rafael’s hair, grasping a handful, while with her other arm she pulled him close. He let one hand drift slowly down her back, the other on her hip keeping her where he wanted her. They took their time, reacquainting themselves with each other, tasting and breathing in one another, both very happy to be in each other’s arms again.

“I love you,” Rafael whispered into the kiss.

“I love you, too,” Frankie murmured, immediately going back to what she’d been doing with her tongue.

“Let me take you home.”

“Text the guys.”

Barba wouldn’t have dreamt of asking any questions. Not now. 

Five minutes later, Rafael had managed to maneuver Frankie against the wall where he could press against her, and was drawing soft moans from her. They began to hear metallic scrapes at the door. A moment later, Dodds’ head appeared around the doorway. 

“Everybody alive?” He asked.

“We’re good. Ready to get outta here.”

“All right. Let’s go,” Dodds said, holding a hand out toward the door. Barba stepped past him, then Frankie, who leaned close to Dodds as she passed. 

“Zipper,” she whispered, then stepped over and kissed Rafael to distract him as Dodds quickly fastened up. 

Rafael flicked off the lights and locked the door with a single key on a small fob. 

“What is this place, anyway? Are we even supposed to be here?”

Barba and Dodds shared a look. “That’s need-to-know,” Barba said. “And you don’t.”

The three walked the few yards to the squad car, where Carisi leaned against the roof, holding the rear door open. His hair was hopelessly askew. 

“Glad to see nobody’s bleeding,” he said, smiling broadly.

***********

The flowers Barba sent the next day were so big Frankie actually had to work around them in her small office at Federal Plaza. The inconvenience made her smile.

The next day, he took her on a dinner cruise around Manhattan, just the two of them and a crew of five on a classic, teak yacht. That was pretty fabulous, but it was so much fun to torture him that Frankie still kissed him good night at the door of her apartment. 

Barba sent more flowers the following day, a perfect little bouquet that was a better size for her office and brought tears to her eyes with its beauty. It was exactly what she would choose for herself, and the card made her knees weak. She had to hide it in her desk because, while not graphic, it was just too personal to have out for anyone to see. 

Through these days, he called and texted so much she wondered how he was getting any work done. In truth, he wasn’t. He was working too hard trying to think of ways to “woo” her, and Carmen was only willing to help him to a certain extent. Frankie and Carmen were becoming friends, and Frankie had wasted no time letting her know the conditions of Barba’s parole.

They had a long, intimate lunch that Thursday. That evening, after they’d finally both made it home and into comfortable clothes, Frankie was laying on her stomach on the couch, feet in the air and chin in her hand, laughing at something Barba had said as they chatted on the phone. This “wooing” process, while slightly frustrating for both of them, was also a lot of fun. And they were enjoying the opportunity to truly know one another. After all, it had only been a few months since they’d met. The best part was that, the more they knew, the closer they became, and the surer they were that they were, in fact, in love.

“You sound happy,” Barba murmured sexily into the phone. 

“Well, I’m not _not_ enjoying being wooed,” she smiled. 

“Jeez. What’s it gonna take to get an actual compliment from you?”

“You could deal with the spider in my bathroom. I’d definitely compliment you for that.” 

“Romantic.”

“Well, you said you like it when I need you. And dealing with the spider would involve both protecting me and supporting me through some emotional distress.”

“Uh-huh. It’s a start, I guess.”

“Barba, you don’t understand. It’s a spider.”

“Just kill it.”

“I can’t.”

“Then re-home it.”

“I can’t.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I… can’t with spiders.”

“You’re afraid of spiders?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I can’t with them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can’t. With spiders. _No puedo. Con las arañas_.”

“And that’s different than being afraid of them how?”

They moved on, with Barba frequently returning to the topic of her fear of spiders whenever he thought of a new way to tease her about it. Almost an hour later, they were still on the phone as Frankie rooted in her sparsely-stocked refrigerator, looking for something to snack on. 

There was a knock at her door.

“Huh,” she said to Barba. “There’s someone at my door.”

“Who is it?” 

She went over to look out the peephole, a smile dawning on her lips. “It’s you.”

“Is it? Then you should let me in.”

“What about wooing?”

“How conceited of you to assume I’m here to ravish you. I’m here to deal with your arachnid problem.”

“Oh.” She undid the locks and opened the door, pushing the “end” button on her phone. “Then come in.” 

He smiled in that slow-burn, eye-twinkling way that she felt all over, stepping through the door. Closing and re-locking the door behind him, she then turned to face him where he stood a few feet into her apartment. They looked at one another and, without a word, Frankie stepped into Barba’s arms.

She softly took his lower lip between hers, moving her lips slowly over his and gently nipping. He gave a soft moan that was all it took before she was pushing him toward her bedroom.

“Wooing’s over,” she said, her voice almost a growl. 

“Thank God.” He began to walk backward, both of them moving together while they kissed and Frankie pulled Barba’s sweater and T-shirt off, tossing them onto her couch as they passed. His skin felt wonderful; she was suddenly hungry to touch all of him. By the time they reached the edge of her bed, she had his jeans unfastened and was pulling them down his hips. He helped her get them off, along with his loafers, so that he could concentrate on her. She made it difficult to get her sweatshirt and yoga pants off because she couldn’t get enough of touching him. 

“Doctor, you are not cooperating,” he laughed softly.

“You’re the one who’s… not… oh, damn it-“ she tore her yoga pants off and pushed him roughly onto the bed. She half-pushed, half-dragged him up to the pillows, where she could stretch out on top of him, touching as much of his skin as possible with hers. She couldn’t hold him tightly enough, even with her full length stretching along his. Barba held her as tightly as she was holding him, understanding her need. He lifted a hand to the back of her head to hold her mouth against his, needing the most intimate possible kisses.

“I love you, _mi fresa_. You have no idea.”

“Do, too,” she muttered into his mouth.

“Don’t argue with me,” he chuckled.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She lifted to her knees enough to straddle him, pulling his hands to cup them over her breasts and wiggling her hips toward him.

He took a hand from her breast to put it on her hip, shifting them both into position. “Fuck me,” he growled.

“Except that,” she said, sliding onto him with a gasp. “Fuck, Barba! I love you-“

It had been too long, and they were too glad to be together, for either of them to last very long. They weren’t worried. They had all night. They had forever. 

Later, lying together happily nuzzling and whispering together, Frankie remembered the spider.

“You forgot to deal with the spider.”

“I’m not going to.”

“What? That was the whole reason I let you in!”

“_Mi fresa_, that lie is unworthy of you.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“Of course it is. You let me in so you could ravish me.”

“And so you would deal with the spider.”

“In that order.”

“OK, I admit that. So now I’ve ravished you, at least for the moment. Time to deal with the spider.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Ravishing. As much ravishing as you want.”

“You’re going to do that anyway. You’re crazy about me. What else?”

“Barba, are you going to protect and support me, or are you going to give me a bunch of trouble?”

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Surprise Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love these guys, so I wanted to revisit them. This is like a check-in, to see how they're doing.

**Francisca:**  
Will you make _huevos rancheros_ for dinner? I can’t stop thinking about them.

** Barba:**  
What’s in it for me? 

**Francisca:**  
The love of your wife.

**Barba:**  
I already have that. 

**Francisca:**  
You want more. You can’t get enough of me.

**Barba:**  
I thought you said I already have all of you? Wasn’t that in our vows?

**Francisca:**  
Please, Barba, I’m dying for _huevos rancheros_. Don’t make me call your _Mami_ and tell her you won’t make them for me.

**Barba:**  
You are terribly spoiled. 

**Francisca:**  
By you. Is that a yes? 

**Barba:**  
Yes, but you owe me.

**Francisca:**  
Someday I will ask you for a favor and you will just say yes without putting me through all this. I love you, even though I know better.

**Barba:**  
I know you do. Send me a pic of you. I miss you.

Frankie responded by sending Rafael a selfie in which she was pretending to look thoughtful and holding a piece of paper over her head. She’d drawn a thought bubble on the paper that said, “How can he be so irresistible and so annoying at the same time?”

**Barba:**  
That’s not annoyance. It’s arousal. You keep making that mistake. I’ll satisfy your voracious demands later. Again. 

**Francisca:**  
😊 But AFTER _huevos rancheros_.__

**Barba:**  
See? Voracious demands. The People rest. 

**************************** 

“Mmmmmmmm… This is so good. Your _huevos rancheros_ make it worthwhile to put up with you.” 

__

“Your compliments need some work, _mi fresa_[1],” Rafael said, smirking with one side of his mouth. Frankie wanted to kiss him, but could only smile at him as best she could with her mouth full. 

__

She finished the last bite, and Rafael stood up to clear the table. 

“You don’t have to do that, _amado_[2]. You cooked. And thank you again for that.” Frankie stood and took the rest of the dishes from the table, carrying them across the kitchen to the sink. 

“I will be so glad when this work is done,” Rafael complained, again, indicating the plastic that still shrouded much of the kitchen and the empty walls where the cupboards should be. 

“You’re the one who had to have the custom cabinets. It could’ve been done weeks ago.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

Rafael and Francisca had been all but inseparable since they had admitted their love for each other. Of course, that didn’t mean they never argued after that night. They argued all the time. But anyone who knew them could see what that was about. 

For the sake of prudence, they had waited six months before officially moving in together, but neither of them had any doubts about their relationship. They knew it was forever. Six months later, on bended knee under trees filled with twinkle lights in a rooftop garden, Rafael asked Frankie to marry him. She tearfully and enthusiastically agreed, after which they spent the next two months joyfully squabbling about when and where to have the ceremony. In the end, they were married in a tiny adobe mission church near Frankie’s family’s ranch in Austin, Texas. Although that had been Rafael’s favorite idea all along, he hadn’t agreed right away. What would be the fun of that? 

As soon as they’d returned from their honeymoon trip to Cuba, they’d started looking for a place to make their permanent home. It had taken several months to find a building they both liked, but they’d enjoyed the search. What neither of them enjoyed was the construction process. Their condo space was great and in the neighborhood they’d wanted. They were lucky to have found it and jumped on it before someone else did. But that was the good news. The bad news was that everything else about the apartment had to go. They’d had to gut the space and start over. It was a nightmare trying to maintain demanding careers, keep on top of the construction work, and deal with two apartments, but eventually the condo had been finished enough to move in while the construction was completed. Rafael often wished they hadn’t. It was nice to be done paying for two apartments, but he was tired of dodging tools and boxes, dealing with construction schedules, and smelling paint fumes. 

“I have an idea,” he said as he handed Frankie the last plate to dry. 

“Get the damn dishwasher installed already?” 

“Close. What if we go to a hotel this weekend? Get away from sawdust and plastic for a couple days?” 

“Really? That would be delightful!” Frankie smiled, setting the plate into a crate on the floor of what would, at some point, be the pantry. She stepped around a box of leftover strips of the hardwood flooring that had just been installed, and put her arms around him. “Barba,” she said, kissing him, “You are as smart as you are hot.” 

Rafael kissed her back, glad he’d suggested it. After taking their time enjoying slow, deep kisses, they relaxed into a tight hug. Rafael felt and heard Frankie yawn deeply. 

“Really? Bored with kissing me already?” 

Frankie laughed against his neck. “Not on your life. Just exhausted.” 

“It’s early. Rough day?” 

“Not particularly. But I’m sleepy.” 

“Is this a ruse to get me into bed?” 

“Will it work if it is?” Frankie looked up into his deep green eyes, feeling the same swooping feeling in her lower abdomen she always did when he looked at her like that. 

He answered by kissing her again, this time with a little more heat. “C’mon, Mrs. Barba. Let’s go do naked married things.”

“That’s Dr. Barba to you, pal.” Frankie took Rafael’s hand and led him into their bedroom. 

“Want to take a quick shower with me?” He asked, then added with a grin, “I’ll wash your back.” 

“Mmmmmm, I think I’ll just ogle you while you undress and wait for you in bed.”

They undressed in the walk-in closet Frankie had designed, playfully providing unnecessary help to each other until neither had any clothes left on. Frankie pulled a short, light nightgown from a hanger and slid it over her head with a smug smile while Rafael grinned and shook his head. This was an old argument. She always put on nightgowns or pajamas, and he always took them back off. At first, he’d teased her about the futility of wearing anything to bed, and she had argued that she liked nightwear and he liked taking it off of her. She was absolutely right, of course, so now they simply exchanged amused looks. 

Frankie followed Rafael into the bathroom, where she washed her face and brushed her teeth while he headed into the shower. They’d been in the apartment for such a short time that he still spent time looking around at the master bathroom whenever he went in, admiring the functional but beautiful room they’d created together. This was one place they’d splurged, and it had been the right decision. The walk-in shower was made of textured stone tile that felt warm under his feet as Rafael walked in to turn on the water as hot as he could stand it. The spray from the overhead rainfall showerhead, which they’d chosen because it was better for showering together, felt wonderful pouring down on him. 

He hummed to himself as he showered, continuing as he toweled his hair and dried off. He quickly brushed his teeth, then headed to the bedroom, flicking off lights as he went until the only light in the room was the lamp on his bedside table. “Did you miss me?” 

Frankie, lying on her back with her head turned slightly away from Rafael’s side of the bed, didn’t respond. 

“Francisca?” 

She was sound asleep. 

“Francisca?” He tried again, but more quietly. He sighed, kissed her softly, and rolled over to pick up the book he’d been reading. He was going to be disappointed tonight, apparently. He could have awakened her, but she’d said she was tired, so he let her sleep. He also thought she might wake up after a bit of a nap, refreshed and in the mood for love. Unfortunately, she slept soundly through the night. 

********************************

Although the next day was a Tuesday, and therefore a workday, Frankie and Rafael had taken a few hours off in the early afternoon to meet with the contractor. Normally, one of them could have handled such a meeting, but there were a number of issues, and there might be some decisions to make which would take both of them. In addition, after a particularly frustrating meeting between Frankie and the contractor, she preferred that both of them be there. The contractor was very highly recommended and was doing an impeccable job, but he was clearly of the opinion that a penis was a necessary element to a final decision. Annoying as that was, Frankie wasn’t going to change the contractor’s prehistoric prejudices, so she figured it was just easier to let Barba deal with him. It was also fun to watch how easily Rafael handled him whenever there was any dissent. 

They met for lunch before the meeting, where Rafael gently teased Frankie about falling asleep early the night before. She was a little embarrassed and felt bad about disappointing him, and promised to make it up to him. She had a hard time choosing what to order for lunch. What she wanted, she said, was _huevos rancheros_. 

“Really? You didn’t get enough last night?” 

“I know! It’s ridiculous, but that just sounds so good right now. I blame you. If you didn’t make such amazing _huevos rancheros_…” 

“I take full responsibility. But the chef’s not going to let me back in the kitchen to make them for you, so you’ll have to choose something else.” 

After lunch, Rafael and Frankie headed to their apartment to meet with the contractor, who never knew what hit him. With every issue and decision, Frankie would set up their position, and Rafael would make it stick. The contractor wanted to cry. He could see he would get nowhere with these two, so the meeting didn’t take long, and afterward he left to pick up the new supplies he was going to need and recover from the double-team he’d just endured. 

Before they returned to work, Frankie pulled Rafael into their bedroom and took the opportunity to make up to him for falling asleep the previous night. 

*******************************

Returning home that evening, Rafael was hit with a blast of cold autumn air as he opened the door. Most of the windows in the apartment were open for some reason. 

“Francisca?” He called, wondering what was happening. He heard her call to him from their bedroom, and found her sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the wall, looking pale with a sheen of sweat on her face. Rafael was instantly concerned and kneeling next to her on the floor. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?” 

Frankie loved the mixture of love and tender worry in his voice. It was a tone he used only with her, and only when they were alone. “It’s nothing. It’s just that smell. I can’t stand it. I opened all the windows, but it’s so bad I actually threw up. Glamorous, I know.” 

Rafael frowned. “What smell?” 

“You can’t smell that? That horrible, sharp chemical smell?” 

When he sniffed, paying attention, he did catch a faint sweetish metallic scent. “I guess I smell something, but it’s pretty faint.” 

_ _“Probably because the windows are open. I actually do feel a little bit better now. I asked the contractor and he said it’s the stuff they used to seal the bricks in the fireplace today.” Frankie went a little green talking about it. _ _

_ _“Do you want to try to get up? You could lay on the bed. It has to be more comfortable than this floor.”_ _

_ _Rafael helped Frankie to her feet, looking closely at her. The smell must have been pretty strong before she opened the windows, for it to be affecting her like this. He tried to help her to the bed, but she gently pushed his arm away. _ _

_ _“I’m OK, Barba.”_ _

_ _“Maybe I just want to put my arm around you.”_ _

“It’s all about you, huh?” She smiled at him as she sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Are you sure this is just from that smell? Maybe you’re getting sick.” 

“No, I feel fine. And, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about the smell anymore. Ugh.” 

Frankie laid down and Rafael took a throw that lay across the end of the bed, draping it over her with a look of concern. He smoothed his hand over her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll make dinner. Which will not be _huevos rancheros_, so don’t ask.” 

“Even if that’s what I really want?” 

Rafael blinked. “Are you serious?” 

“Totally. But I’m not feeling that much like eating, anyway. I think I will sleep for a bit.” 

Each time Rafael checked on Frankie, she was still sound asleep. When it was late and he decided to go to bed, he thought he should at least wake her so she could change into night clothes. But then, when she was already asleep, that seemed sort of an odd thing to do. He wrestled with himself for a few moments, just looking at his wife as she slept, her long black braid draped over one shoulder. She seemed to be sleeping an awful lot over the last few weeks, and she just seemed slightly… off. He wondered whether he should suggest she see a doctor, but was sure she would object to that idea. Not that he didn’t enjoy her objections, but this was her health. 

**************************

After sleeping all night in her clothes under the throw, Frankie woke feeling fine. The smell had mostly dissipated (Rafael had left the windows open and simply worn a coat) and the residual, while unpleasant to her, didn’t seem to be making Frankie sick. 

“Where are we going this weekend?” She asked over toast and coffee as they stood amid the plastic and tools in their kitchen. 

_ _“I was thinking I’d surprise you.”_ _

_ _Frankie scowled theatrically. “You know I don’t trust you.”_ _

_ _“I know. But you do want me, and if I know you, you’ll put up with a surprise just so you can ravish me.”_ _

_ _“Do I need to remind you that you once kidnapped me?”_ _

_ _He smiled. “You were a little mad at me at the time. And it worked.”_ _

_ _“You are insufferably pleased with yourself,” she said, shaking her head as she moved to kiss him._ _

“Well, for the record, I’m pleased with you, too.” 

***************************************

Rafael and Frankie happened to be in the SVU squad room at the end of the work day, so they rode home together. As he navigated the crowded streets, Frankie studied Rafael. “Did you change your cologne?”

_ _“What? No. Why?”_ _

_ _“It just smells different.”_ _

_ _“You can smell my cologne from over there? At the end of the day? I must have put way too much on.”_ _

_ _“No, you didn’t. You’re fine. It’s just because we’re in an enclosed car.” Frankie yawned._ _

_ _“You’re tired?” Rafael’s expression reflected his concern. _ _

_ _“A little. I shouldn’t be, after sleeping so long last night. What’s the look for?”_ _

_ _“Francisca, I’m a little worried about you. You’ve been sleeping a lot lately.”_ _

“You’re exhausting. And I have to deal with you at work _and_ at home.” 

_ _“I’m being serious.”_ _

_ _“So am I,” Frankie grinned. “I feel fine, Barba. I feel great.”_ _

That evening, Frankie made a _paella_ while Rafael worked at their kitchen table until dinner was ready. Afterward, they washed the dishes and packed them back in their crates, not without some grumbling from both of them about the state of the kitchen. When they finished, Rafael suggested they relax and watch a movie. 

_ _“I have a better idea,” Frankie said. “I’ve been regretting that shower I didn’t take with you the other night. How about we do that?”_ _

_ _“Why is that a better idea than mine?”_ _

_ _“Because we’ll be naked and I’ll probably get fresh.”_ _

_ _“We can watch a movie naked and you can get fresh.”_ _

_ _“Why are you so difficult? Just take a shower with me, Barba. I’ll make it worth your while.”_ _

_ _Even after being married for almost a year, Rafael could not resist the look she gave him from under her eyelashes. He followed her into the bedroom, then into the closet where they were less careful than usual with their clothes._ _

_ _They held one another under the hot spray, kissing and touching._ _

_ _“I love you, Barba,” Frankie murmured, looking into his eyes._ _

_ _“You know, many wives call their husbands by their first names.”_ _

_ _“Many wives are not married to you.” Frankie returned to kissing him, then pulled back a little. “Does that really bother you?”_ _

_ _He smiled indulgently. “It doesn’t bother me.”_ _

_ _“I could try calling you Rafael. It’s just that my brother’s name is Rafael, too.”_ _

_ _“You don’t call him Rafael, either.”_ _

_ _“You’re right. Let me try. I love you, Rafael.”_ _

_ _He raised an eyebrow. “How was it?”_ _

_ _“Hmmmm. I need more practice.” She kissed him deeply, then murmured, “I love you, Rafael.” As her caresses became more intimate, she repeated softly, “I love you, Rafael.”_ _

_ _Later, in bed, after he had removed the slinky nightgown she’d slipped on, she was still whispering it from time to time. Now he was inside her, watching her face as he moved in and out, following the pressure of her hands on his hips. She was very close, rubbing hard against the fingers he had slipped between them. He felt her tense and begin to shiver._ _

_ _“Oh, Rafael! Rafael, I’m… I love you so much! Rafael…”_ _

_ _He would never tire of the complex, joyous feeling of hearing Francisca climax when he made love to her. When he had stroked into her through her orgasm, she smiled up at him, laughing a little, and planted her feet on the mattress so that she could move her hips against him. He was there almost immediately, kissing her sloppily and groaning disconnected words of love. _ _

_ _They spent some time catching their breath and then rolled until they were side by side, arms around one another and foreheads touching. _ _

_ _“So?”_ _

_ _“Nope,” she responded softly. “You’re Barba.”_ _

He laughed and pulled her tightly into his arms, where she fell asleep within moments. 

************************** 

_ _Frankie was concerned. She sat at her desk at Federal Plaza, looking around her office and wondering what was wrong with her. She was definitely nauseated, and the thing that was nauseating her was the smell of the teriyaki her coworkers had ordered in for lunch. Which made no sense, because they ordered that at least once a month. It was delicious, but she had closed the carton as soon as she’d opened it at her desk and shoved it away. Then, when she still felt queasy, she got up and carried it to the break room down the hall and put it in the refrigerator, barely making it to the rest room before vomiting. Now, as she sat at her desk, she was remembering Barba’s comment the day before about her sleeping more than usual. She decided it was worth a call to her doctor. She didn’t want to be sick, especially now when she and Rafael were planning to begin trying to get pregnant soon. _ _

_ _The next day, Frankie sat on the edge of the examination table wearing a paper gown and feeling slightly ridiculous. The paper gown wasn’t helping, but the real problem was that she felt fine. She hadn’t felt nauseous since the day before, and she’d stayed wide awake until the time she and Barba normally went to bed the night before. She somewhat sheepishly told the doctor what had been going on, apologizing for overreacting._ _

“It’s probably just hormones, right? Since I went off the pill? I should relax. If I’m this uptight about preparing to get pregnant, I can just imagine what I’m going to be like when we actually are.” 

“Maybe. But I prefer to be the doctor in these situations, Doctor.” 

_ _Frankie blushed. “Sorry.”_ _

_ _Emma Brightman smiled kindly at Frankie, her perfect teeth looking dazzling against her very dark skin. She was older than Frankie, with a lot of grey in her hair, which she wore fairly short, letting the natural, tight curls give it bouncy life. “No apology necessary. I’m a lousy patient, too. So, I guess I don’t have to tell you that your symptoms are classic for pregnancy.”_ _

_ _“I know, but I can’t be pregnant yet.”_ _

_ _“Have you been having sex?”_ _

_ _“Yes, but you told us we had to use a barrier method for the first months after I went off the pill.”_ _

_ _“And have you been?”_ _

_ _“Yes. Mostly.”_ _

“Well,” Dr. Brightman chuckled, “That’s _mostly_ effective. Let’s get some blood and see where we are.” 

_ _Back in the waiting room, Frankie sat, still feeling foolish. She shouldn’t have come, and now Emma was going to think she was a hypochondriac. She was glad she hadn’t mentioned this appointment to Barba. They could laugh about this tonight at the hotel. She knew he was going to mock her about it, but she’d just remind him that he had been the first to suggest she might be sick. _ _

_ _The young medical technician poked her head out the door. “Dr. Rojas-Barba?” _ _

_ _Frankie followed her down the hall back to the same examining room. “You can keep everything on, the Doctor will be with you in a moment.”_ _

_ _Frankie played with a plastic model of the female reproductive system on a counter in the exam room while she waited. There was a small fetus in the plastic uterus. All of the parts could be removed, and Frankie had it pretty much dismantled when Dr. Brightman walked in. She laughed when she saw what Frankie was doing._ _

_ _“I didn’t say you could play with my toys.”_ _

_ _“I’m not sure I can put this back together again,” Frankie said, holding up a plastic ovary. _ _

_ _“Then I’m glad you’re a psychiatrist and not a surgeon. Have a seat.”_ _

_ _Frankie put down the plastic ovary and sat on a hard chair against the wall next to the exam table. Dr. Brightman took a seat on her usual rolling stool and rolled over to Frankie._ _

_ _“Well. All of your bloodwork looks fine. You’re not even anemic anymore, which means you must’ve taken my advice about your diet.”_ _

_ _“I did.”_ _

“And you’re pregnant.” 

*********************** 

Frankie walked beside Rafael down the hushed, thickly carpeted hall of the hotel, feeling as though a tornado raged inside her, with an intense, howling wind that only she could hear. She was very nervous, and had no idea why. They’d talked about this. They’d sat together and shared their dreams about what it would mean to have children together. They’d planned this. But somehow, the reality was terrifying and Frankie could not shake the idea that maybe the reality would change the way Barba felt. Maybe he would be upset that the timing wasn’t what they’d planned. Maybe… 

_ _The bellman placed their suitcases in the bedroom and left with a hefty tip from Rafael, who was thrilled to be out of their messy, plastic-shrouded apartment for the weekend. Rafael turned to see Francisca looking around the living area of their suite, a strange grin on her face. She’d been unusually quiet since they’d met at their apartment after work, but when he’d asked her about it, she’d shrugged it off with a joke. _ _

_ _She sat down on the end of a chaise longue and turned her eyes to him._ _

_ _“I think you might be right. I might be spoiled. This place is really something.”_ _

_ _“You sure you won’t miss the plastic?”_ _

_ _“I’ll try to get through it as best I can. But you should come sit by me. I might need your support.”_ _

_ _He eagerly crossed the room and sat as close to her as he could, while they reached for each other’s hands. She smiled up at him, and he was surprised to see the glint of tears forming in her eyes._ _

_ _“I love you. You know that, right?”_ _

_ _“Of course I do. Everything OK?”_ _

_ _“Everything’s wonderful. I mean it, Barba. I give you as much trouble as possible, but you know that’s because I love you, right? Because it’s who we are?”_ _

_ _“Francisca, of course I do. What’s gotten into you?”_ _

_ _She laughed, surprising him. “Well, funny you should put it exactly that way.” With a deep breath, looking into his eyes as she spoke, she said, “We, um… We’re pregnant.”_ _

_ _The smile began even before he could form words. “Are you sure?”_ _

_ _“I’m sure. I went to see Emma Brightman today, because I’ve been feeling so weird lately. The baby’s due in May.”_ _

_ _“May.” Rafael’s face was a study in shifting emotions. His smile only continued to widen, but underneath a wave of joy, he wavered between concern for Frankie, incredulity, and - she was a little glad to see he felt it, too - fear. _ _

_ _Frankie let it sink in. As a psychiatrist, she knew he would need time. Besides, she was thoroughly enjoying his reaction. As long as she could see that he was happy – and he was already radiating happiness – she could deal with anything else. _ _

_ _He started to laugh. “’What’s gotten into you?’ I said, ‘What’s gotten into you.’”_ _

She couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Yes, you did. You also took responsibility for my craving for _huevos rancheros_ which, as it turns out, _is_ your fault.” 

Rafael’s laughter subsided rather quickly, to be replaced by a tender seriousness. “Francisca, you’re… I don’t even know how to tell you. I love you. I’m so happy.” He took her into his arms, a little more gently than he might have before learning she was pregnant. “I love you, _mi fresa_, so much. And now we’re going to have a baby.” 

_ _When they relaxed their arms around each other, Frankie could see that Barba was still wearing a somewhat bemused, shocked expression. _ _

_ _“I’m freaked out,” she said._ _

_ _“I think I’m a little freaked out, myself. I guess it’s going to take a while to get used to the idea.” _ _

_ _“We have until May.”_ _

_ _“That’s not very long,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the chaise. “We’ll need to get a hold of the contractor. We weren’t planning on doing anything with the second bedroom yet, but now he’s going to have to get to work on a nursery. We’ll need built-ins; lots of cupboards and drawers and storage. Babies need so much stuff. We’ll need-“_ _

_ _“We can wait until Monday.”_ _

“Yeah, but that’s just the room itself. We’re going to need all the furniture, and all the _stuff_ – do you have any idea how much… _equipment_ you need for a baby? Strollers and bottles and – we’re gonna breast feed, right?” 

“_I_ am, yes.” Frankie smirked while Barba, completely oblivious to the joke, continued. 

_ _“I have an idea! Let’s go shopping. Right now.” His hopeful, expectant look made Frankie smile so hard it hurt. _ _

_ _“Shit, you’re adorable,” she said._ _

_ _“We’re going to have to get out of the habit of swearing, too.”_ _

_ _Frankie pulled him back from the edge of the chaise, and put her arms around him, kissing him. “I fucking love you, Barba. And we will get all the stuff Baby Barba needs before May. But there are months between then and now. Let’s not go shopping right this minute.”_ _

_ _“No?” He asked, relaxing a bit and kissing her back. _ _

“Let’s stay here and order room service – I hope they have _huevos rancheros_ because I’m dying for them – and just… be together.” 

The half-smile and look of adoration he beamed down on her took her breath away. He stood, removed his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair, and sat at the head of the chaise. “_Ven aca_.”[3] 

__

_ _ _Frankie settled on her side between his legs, leaning her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him. _ _ _

_ _ _“I love you, Barba.”_ _ _

“I love you, too, _mi fresa_. And I already love Baby Barba.” 

_ _ _“Me, too.” _ _ _

_ _ _ _

[1] See Chapter 1  
[2] Beloved, darling  
[3] Come here. 


	12. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba's wife is pregnant. He experiences a host of things he'd expected, and many things he never saw coming.

Once Frankie knew the reason for her symptoms, she gave in to her cravings, avoided smells that bothered her, and took naps. Especially once she got over the nauseous stage, she began to thoroughly enjoy being pregnant.

Rafael did not. Although he experienced a host of things he’d expected, he also experienced many things he never saw coming. 

He had expected Frankie to have mood swings. So at five months, when he’d found her in their walk-in closet wearing only a pair of panties and crying because she was, as she put it, “already a planet,” he’d been prepared and happy to reassure her that she looked beautiful pregnant, just as she always did. A week later, when she bit his head off for asking what she wanted for dinner, he had apologized, drawn her a bubble bath, and rubbed her back while she soaked. But Rafael had not expected to have his own mood swings. He hadn’t expected to be moved to tears by seeing his baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time. He hadn’t expected that the smallest hint that Frankie might be unwell would make him want to rush her to ICU. He hadn’t expected that learning he had a son would scare the living shit out of him. 

That one he really should have seen coming. He admitted that he hoped for a girl because, by definition, that would mean that he and his child would have a different relationship than he’d had with his father. But finding out his baby was a boy had been a major shock, and sent him reeling.

Rafael didn’t hate his father. “Hate” was too strong a word. But he most definitely didn’t like his father. He never had. Mostly because his father had never liked him. Rafael’s father was a selfish son of a bitch who never should have had a child. But he thought that having children was something he needed to do to prove his manhood and, at first, he’d been pleased and proud to have a son. The problems began when he realized that the son he’d expected was not the son he had. He’d imagined a son like himself, a working class, beer and football (real _fútbol_, not that clumsy American crap) guy who was unapologetically physical and didn’t mind throwing a punch now and then. As it turned out, the only person Rafael Barba ever punched was his father. But that’s another story.

Lucia Barba had always grieved for both of them. Mateo Barba was a good man in most ways, and she loved him deeply. She was sad for him that he felt such disillusionment, especially when Rafael was a boy who would make any father proud. He was smart, clever, and good looking from infancy. From his first day of school, he was at the top of every class, excelled at the extracurricular activities he chose, and never caused trouble. He charmed anyone he cared to (which was not everyone he met, and Lucia liked that about him, too, because he got that selectivity from her). She wished that Mateo could let go of his imaginary son and see Rafael. But Mateo was a selfish man, and he was not a good father. He didn’t shy from expressing disappointment in Rafi, for nothing more than simply not being the child Mateo had fantasized. When he said those things, Lucia could see Rafi accept them. She watched him begin to believe them. And that, she could not allow. 

Lucia did several things to ensure that Mateo’s faults would not become Rafael’s wounds and, for the most part, succeeded. The first thing she did was to confront Mateo and tell him, in no uncertain terms, the boundaries of what she would tolerate in Mateo’s interaction with their son, and the consequences for violating them. He tested her. He slept on the couch that night. He tested her again. He slept on the couch for a week. He tested her a third time and lived elsewhere for a month. He didn’t test her again. Mateo Barba may have been a selfish, short-sighted fool, but he loved his wife. It didn’t make for a good relationship between him and his son, but that’s why Lucia began to carefully, gradually, influence Rafi to value the opinions of other family members over those of his father. And in that, she succeeded brilliantly and raised a happy, self-confident son. It wasn’t ideal. Life never is.

When Rafael learned that he and Francisca were having a boy, he talked extensively to his mother about his relationship with his father, and his fears that he would make the same mistakes with his son. Lucia was a very, very smart woman who loved Rafael beyond anything, and he knew it. He loved her just as fiercely. So when she told him that she knew he was incapable of the things Mateo had said and done, he believed her. And she was right.

************

Rafael had expected that Frankie’s cravings would continue, and they did. She quickly learned to handle them in various ways. More than once, Rafael was awakened by the doorbell to find that Frankie was not beside him in bed. He would go out to investigate, and find her happily chatting with a delivery person bringing some food item she’d simply needed to have. 

He had not expected that he would be the one to gain a troublesome amount of weight as Frankie’s pregnancy progressed. Frankie loved yoga, which she could continue while pregnant, although Dr. Brightman discouraged the hot yoga she especially liked. Besides, Frankie was supposed to gain weight. Rafael wasn’t. Never very interested in exercise, Rafael avoided weight gain by being choosy about what he ate. But that went out the window as egg rolls, tamales, and carrot cake began arriving after midnight on a regular basis. He ended up having to start jogging to avoid having to invest in alterations to all his suits.

He also hadn’t expected that he would have to become a regular at the all-night grocery a few blocks from their building. One typical night, when she was around seven months pregnant, Frankie woke him up moving around in bed. 

“Are you OK?” He felt the familiar jolt of panic that hit every time he thought something might be wrong with her.

“I’m fine. I’m just having trouble sleeping.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Ben & Jerry’s. Chunky Monkey, to be precise.”

“_Mi amor_, I don’t think we have any left.”

“We don’t. But I’m dying for it.” 

“So have it delivered.”

“I can’t. There’s a minimum purchase for delivery. But as long as you’re awake…”

“Can’t you just go back to sleep? I’ll get you a hundred cartons of Chunky Monkey tomorrow. During regular business hours.”

“They have it at Carlson’s. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No. You sent me out for Chunky Monkey a couple nights ago, and you were asleep by the time I got back. Just go to sleep.”

“Really? Because you know, it’s not really me who wants it. It’s Baby Barba.” 

“Then it’s a good opportunity to teach him that he can’t always get what he wants. Goodnight, Francisca.”

She cuddled up to him, belly against his back and one arm over him, and for a few moments they tried to go to sleep. Except now he was awake. Part of the reason was that there was a persistent tapping against him, low in his back, and Frankie was giggling.

“Is that…”

“Yes. It’s your son. He’s kicking you because he wants Chunky Monkey.”

“Damn it,” he sighed, throwing the covers back. He leaned over and spoke to Frankie’s now fairly extensive bump. “Next time, have a craving for something we have in the house.” 

“I love you,” Frankie sighed happily as he got out of bed.

“Grrrrrrrrr.”

The next day, having lunch with his mother who was in Manhattan for a conference, he was tired and grumpy. When she asked him about it, he made the mistake of complaining to her about Francisca’s late-night cravings. 

“What? What are you telling me? You said _no_? She’s carrying that baby around for nine whole months. She’s the one with the backache, and the stretch marks, and the constantly having to pee. It’s her he’s kicking in the ribs. You, what do you have to do? Nothing. You get up and you get her whatever she wants.” 

She smacked him in the back of the head, in full view of everyone in the restaurant, including several of his colleagues. “I did not raise you to say no to your pregnant wife.”

************

Rafael had expected that Frankie would need a great deal of support while she was pregnant. He had not expected that he would need at least as much, or that supporting one another would bring them even closer than they had been before. 

He sat on his couch, reading a professional journal, while Frankie slept with her head on his lap. His arm was around her, his hand splayed out on her rounded abdomen. This was very familiar. She needed a lot of naps, although she didn’t want to sleep too long. Every once in a while, Rafael could feel a movement that told him that, although his wife was asleep, his son was not. That always got his complete attention. Feeling the baby move made his existence entirely real to Rafael, who was still trying to grasp that he was a father. 

It scared him. He was very glad that Francisca didn’t seem to be frightened at all of parenthood. Her confidence helped allay his fears. He remembered the conversation they’d had a while earlier, before she’d fallen asleep.

“_Amado_[1], you’re an attorney and I’m a physician. What could possibly happen that we couldn’t handle?”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t need an attorney until he’s at least out of diapers.”

Frankie laughed at that.

“I’m closer to fifty than forty, you know,” he groused.

“I do know that.”

“He’s gonna hate that he has such an old dad.”

“He will adore you as much as I do. Besides which, I think how it works is that he will make you feel younger.”

“All the other parents will think I’m his grandfather.”

“They better not say that around me. I don’t want to be a bad example to our son, but I might have to get medieval on anyone who said that.”

He wasn’t convinced. This one bothered him. “Why’d you marry such an old guy?”

“Because I love you. Anyway, I’ve never had any use for young men. They’re not even interesting until they’re at least forty. Are you trying to say that I chose my son’s father poorly? Because I would vehemently disagree with you.”

“And what a surprise that would be.” He’d smiled and kissed her.

“I chose Baby Barba’s father extremely carefully. I chose a man who speaks Spanish, so he can grow up bilingual, like we did. I chose a brilliant man who can teach him things, and an educated man so he’ll value education. I chose a man with a good job who will take wonderful care of him and teach him about responsibility and the value of work. Let’s see, what other criteria did I have? I chose a kind and caring man, of course, and a good singer for his lullabies, since God knows I can’t sing a note. A good cook, a snappy dresser, someone with a social conscience so he won’t grow up to be an asshat…”

“I get the idea.” Frankie loved to list Rafael’s good qualities, to which he felt duty-bound to object, although he actually didn’t mind. And this time, he really needed it.

“But, of course, I also had some criteria for me. I did have to conceive him, after all. So his father had to be extremely attractive, of course. And wonderful. And romantic. And good in bed, and an outstanding kisser, and…”

“All right, all right, enough.”

“Well, you asked.”

“Actually, I didn’t.”

“Sure, you did. You asked why I married you. And part of the reason is because you’re an excellent choice to be Baby Barba’s father.”

“We keep calling him Baby Barba. When are we going to give this kid a name?”

“His name is Eliséo.”

“We haven’t agreed on that.”

“We will.”

“You are going to have a difficult time convincing people you’re his _mami_ when you call him Eliséo and his birth certificate says Javier.”

“Then let me name him Rafael.”

“I thought we’d finally put that one to bed. You can make his middle name Rafael if you must. But his first name is Javier.”

“Eliséo. If you want Javier, he can be Eliséo Rafael Javier Barba. Or even Eliséo Javier Rafael Barba, because you’re so handsome I can deny you nothing.”

“_Claro_[2]. That’s how you got in this situation in the first place. Now go to sleep. Javi needs his rest.” 

“Javi won’t sleep. He will kick me and do somersaults and try to keep me awake, because he is your son and therefore delights in tormenting me.”

Rafael directed his next comments to Francisca’s belly. “I understand the impulse, _mijo_[3], but I’m the only one who gets to torment your _mami_. You have to behave.” 

************* 

Rafael had expected that there would be work to do preparing for their baby. And he had honestly not expected to be that involved. Wasn’t that what _mamis_ and _abuelitas_ did? Until it was his child for whom the preparations were being made, when he suddenly found that he wanted – _needed_ – to be involved in every decision. Fortunately, neither Frankie nor Lucia felt particularly territorial about the preparations. Frankie was (mostly) charmed by Rafael’s fanaticism about the most minute details, and Lucia simply found it amusing. Besides, they both knew Rafael well enough not to be particularly surprised.

As they entered into the ninth month, Rafael and Frankie were on the floor of the nursery putting the crib together. Or at least attempting it.

“We have five college degrees between us, three of which are graduate degrees. We should be able to figure this out.” Frankie mused.

She was wearing a pair of pre-pregnancy yoga pants, which didn’t fit over her sizeable bump, so the waistband ran underneath it. The soft, long-sleeved top she was wearing was a maternity top, but it only reached about halfway down her belly these days, so she basically had clothes on everywhere except for her bump. As her belly had grown, she’d mostly adopted this style at home. Rafael found it adorable and oddly sexy. 

“It would be helpful if these instructions were in either of the languages we speak.”

“Aren’t they printed in a bunch of languages?”

“Well, maybe the Mandarin or German are intelligible, but listen to this. ‘Take railing to part E, careful to attaching on side.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

“It means we should have bought a crib that was already put together.”

As they worked together to try to figure out the crib, their conversation returned to a familiar issue they’d been trying to resolve for weeks.

“There’s got to be another way,” Rafael grumbled around the several screws sticking out of his mouth as he worked on the crib.

“There is. You can chill out about it.” 

“Our son is not wearing some other kid’s used diapers!” 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Barba, that’s a ridiculous way to look at a diaper service. They’re totally clean and fresh and deodorized. Way better than we could do here. And you’ve already issued your absolute decree that we’ll be using cloth, so…”

“Don’t you care about his hygiene?”

“Of course I do, and a diaper service is perfectly hygienic. You’re getting a little weird about this, Barba.”

“How is it weird to want him to have clean diapers?”

“You want him to have sterile diapers untouched by human hands. Or backsides. That’s weird. Besides, we should probably get used to the idea that he’s not going to be pristine. He’s a little boy. He’s gonna eat dirt. Squash bugs and smear their guts on his pants. Wipe his nose on his shirt. Which brings me to the topic of clothes.” 

“Here we go.”

“Barba, you’re insanely picky about baby clothes. I get it when it’s you and me – you, mostly – but you do realize what _he’s_ gonna do to his clothes, right? He’s gonna be gushing bodily fluids all over them with alarming regularity.” 

“I don’t care. He doesn’t need to wear hand-me-downs.”

“He’s going to wear them for about five minutes before he grows out of them, just like the baby who had them before. It just makes sense.”

“No. Next topic. My _mami_ gave me the name of another possible nanny.”

Frankie bit her tongue. From day one, Rafael had refused to even talk about day care. Which turned out to be no problem because, as a baby shower gift, Frankie’s father had announced that he would be paying all the expenses for them to hire a nanny. It was a tradition he’d begun when his first grandchild was born, and had continued for each of the three he had thus far. 

The problem was that Rafael was absolute hell on every applicant. Two had left their apartment in tears. 

“Will you promise to be nice to this one? And try to see their good qualifications?” 

“I can’t help it the ones we’ve seen so far were all hopeless.”

“They were all qualified. You have impossible standards.”

“It’s not about me. It’s about Javier.”

“Maybe Eliséo doesn’t need a nanny. Nannies are elitist. You hate elitist.”

“Many normal kids have a nanny.”

“He’ll be socially isolated.”

“He’ll be an infant.”

“What if we never find a nanny you can live with?”

“We will. She’s out there. Now we just have to find her.”

“Her. So he can’t have a man nanny?”

“Absolutely not. She has to be an _abuelita_ who has raised at least ten kids of her own.”

“So no young nannies or non-Hispanics.”

“No.”

“Isn’t every one of those requirements flagrantly illegal?”

“Hush. It’s for Javi.” 

******

Rafael had expected that their baby, and thus Francisca, would be big toward the end of her pregnancy. What he hadn’t expected was that he would want her as much when she was heavily pregnant as he ever had. And that she would still want him just as much.

One evening after she’d stopped working until the baby was born, Rafael returned home to find Frankie sitting on their couch, crying. As always, he was instantly terrified.

“_Mi fresa_, what is it? Are you all right? What do you need?”

“I’m stuck! I can’t get up from here. I’ve been trying for ten minutes and I can’t!” Her face streamed with tears and she was practically wailing.

It would have been funny – actually, it was funny – but Rafael was far too intelligent (and, by now, experienced at having a pregnant wife) to laugh. Instead, he went to her and put his arms around her, lifting her up from the couch and then holding her as she cried. It was fairly awkward to hold her these days, with a full-term baby bump between them.

“I want to be done being pregnant now! I walk like an elephant and I’m the size of Yankee Stadium! We can’t even have sex! I don’t like this anymore!” 

“_Mi amor_, you do _not_ walk like an elephant, and you are the same size you’ve always been. It’s Javier who’s getting bigger, which, after all, is as it should be. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. And you know we can still have sex. We’re very adaptable, you and me.”

He led her into their bathroom and washed her face with a cold washcloth, telling her over and over how beautiful he found her and how much he loved her and Javier.

“His name is Eliséo,” she said, but calmly and with a small smile.

“I love him no matter what his name is. And I especially love you.” He began to kiss her, testing to see how she would react. Although he was right that they’d managed to find several ways to have sex even as her bump had grown, making love had become less frequent as it became more challenging. The baby made it impossible for her to rub against him as she normally would, but she reached for him and began to stroke him as they kissed. 

“I love you, too. So much.”

“Do you really want to make love? Because there’s nothing I’d rather do than take you to bed.”

“Even though I look like I ate a globe?”

“I’m a big fan of geography. Can’t say I’ve ever been particularly turned on by a globe before, but on you it looks good.” 

They chuckled together as they stood, kissing, until he tentatively took a step backward, pulling her with him. Her hands were becoming seriously distracting, and the sounds she’d begun to make seemed to confirm that she was on the same page. She followed him eagerly, beginning to undress him as they went. Once Frankie had Rafael naked, he leaned over and kissed her bump, as usual bare between her shirt and her leggings.

“Don’t look,” he whispered, as he slid her leggings down. 

They had discovered that kneeling on the bed, with her grasping the headboard and him behind her, was so much fun they thought they would keep it up even when she wasn’t pregnant. 

They dozed for a while afterward, satisfied and spooning under the covers. Frankie yawned happily when Rafael began to kiss her awake again. 

“We forgot to eat dinner.”

“Mmmmmm. We did. I’m not very hungry, though.”

“Me, neither. I had a late lunch. What would you say to a hot bath and some Chunky Monkey?”

“Will you be there?”

“If you want me to be.”

“Yes, yes, yessssssssss.” 

************

Rafael had expected that he would probably talk to his baby before he was born. He hadn’t expected that the baby would begin to respond to his voice. Rafael was so enchanted to feel his son move and kick when he spoke that, by the time he was born, Rafael had already spent countless hours talking and singing to him. Sometimes he would read to him, just because he would respond, and it made Frankie laugh.

Rafael had also expected that the birth of their son would be exciting, and maybe a little dramatic. He could never have been prepared for the actual event.

He and Frankie were lying in bed in the dark, Rafael singing lullabies partly for the baby, but mostly for Frankie, who was getting too uncomfortable to sleep very well these days. She’d been a bit restless since they’d gone to bed, but he was used to that lately. He noticed her give a start, but she seemed to relax afterward. This was also something he’d become used to, as the baby’s kicks became stronger. 

A short time later, she gave a soft moan, followed by a sharp intake of breath. He stopped singing and lifted his head. “Francisca?”

“I-“ she winced and shuddered. Slowly and a bit thickly, she said, “I think… Will you turn on the light?”

Rafael hurriedly rolled over and flicked on his bedside lamp, turning back to see Frankie holding the blankets up to reveal that she was lying in what looked to him like a lake of blood.

“Barba,” she whispered, her face a mask of fear. “We’re in trouble.”

The next half hour was a blur. Rafael had no idea how he pulled his thoughts together enough to give their address to the 911 operator. The only reason he was able to call their neighbor, Mrs. Rifkin, was that they’d taped her phone number next to the phone for just this possibility. He had no idea what he said to her, but they had a plan, and she knew her role would be to open the front door of the building for the emergency crew if necessary, so she didn’t need much instruction.

Frankie was too sleepy. She’d been resting and trying to sleep when she’d begun to feel sharp pains low in her back and abdomen, but now she was even sleepier. She initially clasped Rafael’s hand so hard his wedding ring cut into his finger, but he said nothing. Now he would have welcomed that pain. Her grasp felt very weak. During the endless wait, he held her and tried to keep his own terror at bay for her, hiding his panic and speaking as calmly and reassuringly to her as he could. She appeared to be in pain, but she wasn’t saying anything.

“Francisca? _Mi fresa_, stay with me. Help is coming. I’m here. Stay with me. Francisca?”

She only moaned his name softly in response. 

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafael flung rapid-fire information and instructions at them as he led them at a run into the bedroom. One quickly assessed Frankie, while the other blinked at Rafael somewhat blankly. It took him a minute to realize he had been yelling at them in Spanish. In any event, they didn’t need much information their eyes couldn’t instantly provide. Working together, they very quickly started an IV and put an oxygen mask on Frankie, then wasted no time getting her strapped onto a gurney and rushing to the elevator.

There wasn’t much the paramedic sitting next to Rafael in the back of the ambulance could do other than assess Frankie and time her contractions by feel, because she was no longer responding. Rafael could only sit, holding her hand, and pray as the sound of the siren grated on his nerves until he wanted to scream. He had no idea how long the ride to the hospital was. He only knew it couldn’t have been as long as it felt.

The paramedics had been in contact with the hospital as they drove so that, when they arrived at the ambulance entrance, a team of nurses and doctors was already waiting for them. Rafael felt the tears begin when he saw that one of the team was Emma Brightman, Frankie’s OB/Gyn, whom he knew well. The team grasped the rails of the gurney and headed to the elevator at a dead run while the paramedics shouted Frankie’s latest vital signs to them. 

On the elevator, Dr. Brightman spoke to Rafael even as she examined Frankie. “We were a little worried about this, if you remember. The placenta is a little closer to the cervix than we like. So we’re going to get this baby born right now. We’ll take good care of them.”

All Rafael could do was nod. He still had Frankie’s hand in his.

When the elevator doors opened, the team sprinted toward a set of shiny metal double doors with a small window in each and a warning sign saying “No Unauthorized Entry. Surgical Personnel Only.” Frankie’s hand was torn from Rafael’s as the team ran through the doors with her. A lovely woman with a lilting Caribbean accent touched Rafael on the arm. 

“My name is Kimona. You’re Mr. Barba?”

“I don’t know…”

Kimona smiled kindly. “That’s your wife who just went into surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re Mr. Barba. They’re going to take great care of your wife and your baby. And I’m going to take great care of you. First, let’s get you into some scrubs.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to be meeting your baby in a few minutes.”

Kimona showed Rafael into a small dressing room where he floundered his way into scrubs, shaking with terror and confusion. This wasn’t the plan. None of this was the plan. Frankie wasn’t supposed to be bleeding so severely she lost consciousness. She wasn’t supposed to be having surgery. She was supposed to be sitting in front of him, resting against his chest, while he helped her sit up to push. That was the plan. That was what they’d prepared for in their classes. Not this. Not this fear. Not this nausea and screaming dread. There was never supposed to be any hint that he could lose her or his son. Or, God help him, both of them.

When he stepped back into the hallway, Kimona smiled calmly.

At that moment, a phone on the desk behind Kimona beeped softly. She gently took Rafael’s cell phone from him and turned to lean over the desk and answer the phone. She murmured a few words, then hung up. She smiled her soothing, placid smile at him.

“That was for you. Your son is here, and he is just fine. Shall we go meet him?”

“Francisca.”

“She is still in surgery, but she is stable. Dr. Brightman will take good care of her.”

She helped him put on a yellow, papery-feeling gown and tied it behind him, then led him through the double doors. Rafael noticed a large door with a window in it to his right. It looked like it led to an operating room. But Kimona led him into an examination room across the hall. In the room were two women, both dressed much like Rafael was. 

“This is Dad,” Kimona said in her gentle, musical voice. “Mr. Barba, this is Dr. Keller, the neonatologist, and this is Jeannie, your son’s nurse.”

Rafael couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe. He didn’t look at either woman, because his entire focus was on the small, red-faced infant kicking his legs and moving his arms in a clear plastic bassinet between them. He looked as confused as Rafael was, and seemed to be trying to decide whether to cry, much like Rafael himself. 

“We’re just finishing, Mr. Barba. What’s your son’s name?” The neonatologist said as she finished doing something to the baby’s feet. 

Rafael cleared his throat, but didn’t look away from his son’s face. “He… Ha… Javier. His name is Javier.”

Whatever Javier was thinking about his new circumstances, he suddenly felt better about things. He turned his head toward Rafael and his expression changed from unhappy to surprised.

Jeannie, the nurse, laughed. “Well, somebody knows Daddy’s voice,” she said, taking over with the baby now that Dr. Keller had finished with him. It seemed to take her no time at all to have him diapered and swaddled, and slip a soft, striped hat on his head. All the time, he didn’t take his eyes off of Rafael. Jeannie picked him up and stepped over to Rafael.

“Do you feel ready to hold him? I know this is a lot right now,” she said kindly, holding him so that Rafael could look at him.

“I… Yes. I want to hold him.”

Again, the baby reacted to Rafael’s voice. When Jeannie put him into Rafael’s arms, father and son gazed into each other’s eyes as though there was nothing else in the world. Rafael began softly to talk to his son in Spanish, telling him that he was his _papá_, and that he loved him, and that he thought his name was Javier but they would have to discuss that with his _mami_. 

Saying that brought Rafael back abruptly, if not completely, from his baby’s spell. He looked up at the doctor and nurse. “My wife…”

“You sit here for a moment,” Dr. Keller said, indicating a rocking chair in the corner. “I’ll go across the hall and check on her.”

Rafael sat in the chair, moving so carefully that Nurse Jeannie had to hide a smile. First-time dads were the cutest, and this one seemed to have fallen particularly in love with his new son. Rafael allowed himself to lose himself in his baby again, knowing that the neonatologist was checking on Francisca. He felt an inexplicable urge to unswaddle him so he could see all of him again, count his fingers and toes, and make sure he was really here, and really all right. He settled for lifting the baby to his face and smelling him, giving him his first kiss while he was at it. 

Dr. Keller returned a few moments later. “I checked on Mom. She’s doing well. Dr. Brightman’s still working on her, but she said that when your wife goes to recovery, she’ll come by and see you. She wanted me to tell you that everything’s going well, and Mom should do just fine.”

Dr. Keller and Nurse Jeannie busied themselves with other things to give Rafael some privacy as he burst into tears of relief. 

********* 

Frankie awoke slowly. She felt exhausted and battered, as though she’d been tumbled in a clothes dryer for a week. Gradually, she noticed several things. The first thing she noticed was that she was lying in a hard, unfamiliar bed in a room she’d never seen before, and it was light outside. Next, she noticed that she felt strangely different, as though her body was… deflated. That popped her eyes wide open, and she was just about to panic when she saw Rafael, sound asleep, slumped in an oversized recliner with a blanket half fallen off of his legs. At his left hand was a rolling cart with a clear bassinet on it, and she could see a baby asleep in it. Her baby. Their baby.

“Barba?” She called weakly. He awoke immediately and sat up so fast the blanket fell the rest of the way onto the floor.

He was instantly at her side, leaning over to take her hand and kiss her forehead, his stubble scratchy on her skin. “Good morning,” he said, his voice a little ragged but his smile radiant. “How do you feel?”

“I want to see him,” she whispered, eagerness showing through her exhaustion. 

“Demanding as always,” he chuckled, but turned to lift the baby gently from his bassinet. He laid their son carefully in the crook of her arm, and she lifted up slightly so that she could peer at him. He blinked up at her and yawned before closing his eyes again.

Her face registered a hint of surprise as she smiled down at her son. “Oh. I guess you were right. This _is_ Javier.”

Rafael laughed quietly. He leaned down to press the latch on the bed railing, putting it down so that he could sit next to Frankie on her bed, laying a hand gently on her leg. 

“Can we make him naked? I want to see all of him.”

“He’s our son, Francisca. We can do whatever we want.”

She looked up at him, the hint of a smirk on her lips. “You’ve already done it.”

“Twice. He’s irresistible.”

They laughed softly as they unwrapped Javier’s swaddling and examined him. He wasn’t happy about it, so they re-swaddled him after only a few moments.

“He’s perfect,” Frankie said, looking adoringly up at Rafael. “Thank you.”

Rafael tried to be gentle as he leaned down and kissed his wife, long and softly. “I think that’s my line.”

An hour later, Frankie’s nurse had come in and helped her to begin nursing Javier for the first time. Rafael thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. He sat for a long time on the edge of the bed, just gazing at his little family but, after a while, he noticed that Frankie was wearing a thoughtful expression.

“What is it, _mi fresa_?”

“Maybe Eliséo is his brother,” she said. 

“So we’re doing this again?”

“Well, not tomorrow, but yes. We said we didn’t want Javi to be an only child.”

“And even after everything, that’s still the plan?”

“As long as you’ll be there with me,” she said, reaching for Rafael’s hand. “If you’re with me, we can do anything.”

[1] Beloved  
[2] Obviously  
[3] My son


End file.
